A Metaphor

A man is alone on an island. Within the island are materials to build, and to destroy, as well as to envision; books, and tools, and weapons. There are gardens, though some wilted, and libraries, though some dilapidated and deteriorated. In the reaches of this island he was  born and here he will die, and everything accrued upon the surface, he has either gleaned from elsewhere or made himself.

Through many travels and many studies, he has made his enigma of an environment all about himself, with the voices and animals inherent for company.

But an island is a misleading term, for within sight of the ringing mountains and between the  long valleys are other islands in the mist, separated only by passable gaps over the sea. Some are upon the distant horizon, others very close indeed at hand, and each- and each- has an inhabitant of their own that does much the same in theory as he, himself, though in practice every island is entirely different. As each inhabitant is entirely different.

One day the man purported to connect the lands, envisioning glory and the warmth of company he had prior only imagined, and when favorable response was received began to weave tethers with them between the long gaps of the island. Over time what seemed like thick, sturdy bonds were fully realized, and led to expectant hope and joy as he patiently set to work. For several years he shaped and crafted planks to set down over the great emptiness between  their separate states, attending with care and enthusiasm to every flaw he spotted, and to every hole he could reach.

This, fully in the thought that they would make commensurate effort, and that- in equaling one another- there would be commune between them as there had never yet been worth every effort made. Perhaps without being able to express the dream and its meaning to them it was unfair to expect; at least, at first. He made it abundantly clear after the first time he could abide no longer and started to smash the boards.

And why would he betray this labor of love?

From hate of the emptiness on the other side.

Though the bonds and tethers remained embedded, sparse and far between lay their own boards, and some were so shoddy that the bridges collapsed under their own weight- half full, half empty, spiraling down into nothing anymore as their connections frayed. Some snapped entirely well before he tried to demand aid and failed. With no support structures offered under them and only the bridge itself to reach them, the islands did not become united- in fact, some became more isolated than ever and withdrew entirely behind the walls.

Kindness failed him. Begging failed him. Reason failed him. Wrath failed him. Bargaining failed him.

Promises to the contrary were believed and he placed his trust again, and again, and again, hammering out efforts with bleeding hands and a wild hope that this time- that this time- that this time- they would meet him halfway and finish filling their own side of the gaps. Surely they would not lie. Surely they were fully as capable as he was.

And he fell into madness, once, twice, thrice, and again; every time he cries out with no reply, unable to feel anyone by or on his side, he falls into the same trap again. And they say, "You have abused my trust", "I thought you better than this," or worst of all, "I'm sorry, but-"

The better among them, the ones who did at least shape their wood, advised him that change was needed. And he agreed. Change was needed.

He sat in his boat and waited for a long time, thinking, and tried several ways over the time that passed to alter the basic situation. There were two factors that could change. "Him", and "Them".

Though they promised change and at first he had faith in this, failure to follow eventually convinced him the islanders could not or would not meet his dream. That left changing himself. Certainly he couldn't afford to lose himself anymore or marr the crafts further.

To change for the better, there was a time when he tried to simply build the entire bridge himself, but there were enough collapses and plunges to disillusion him as to this proceeding as well. There was a time, too, when he considered and simply hid from the project that was once his aspiration, unwilling to place himself on those so-thin slices of meaning again. But neither of these options appealed to him.

With some, he had thought the bridge had actually succeeded, and had begun to overlay the wood with stone and supports. This did not last long, when measured against the time of the scheme. When one of these admitted to deliberately ignoring the effort- not merely not assisting, but avoiding it- the island dweller decided that burning bridges would solve nothing. Another could merely be built, again, and if he saw her he would try.

It was his nature to try and the source of a great deal of his woe.

So instead, this time, he began to build a wall, to block the very thought of her, circling the enclosure of the island and sectioning off her bridge. Yes, he would take the advice and change. They had finally, finally gotten through to him, and despite their assurances, he would finally seal himself in silence.

And he would, for better or for worse, for all the tears and pounding on the other side... change.

A man is alone on an island, and he smiles as he crafts himself into a monster.