An Intricate Web of Careful Plot and Design

I am an incredibly small thing, thought a spider, as he roamed a forest of moss and leaf, crawling through stick and thicket, over stone and mountainside.

And the world... now that is quite big.

This was a rather important day in the life of this particular being, and being myself, I would like to make this momentous occasion known to the world of you.

Somehow, I am here, he thought. I am significant; I make a difference. I eat a moth, and one million unseen consequences inevitably unfold around me. I do not eat the moth, one million unseen consequences inevitably unfold around us both.

But just as such, if I allow the moth to consume me, one million more unseen consequences will inevitably unfold around him.

The thought intrigued him like none had done before.

What is life? What is death? How can my death be life for another, just as his death means life for myself? Why must there be death in order for there to be life? Is there not a way for us both to have life, without wishing death upon the other?

Just then, a moth landed upon a flower, just inches from his nest.

Good moth, he entreated, have you an answer for a curious spider?

Good spider, he responded, my instincts instruct me to avoid you as if life my depended upon it. My answer is no; for you, I have no answer.

The spider understood this point, but persisted nonetheless.

Good moth, mine inquiry this day pertains to exactly that! MUST we always yield to these frivolous instincts? MUST we live in constant fear of untimely demise, simply for another's hope of continued existence? Dear brother, we are both one in the same innovative mind! Just as another, less philosophically conscious spider may at any moment come down from this tree and impale you without warning, so might a bird do the same to me without trace of mope or quobble! For us, life is a gift, a gift to remain protected.

The spider paused for a moment, giving the moth time to think on these new and possibly revolutionary words. What could the spider be getting at, the moth sat and thought.

Come unto my house. Come, and we shall see what consequences we may unfold, being together, yet not in the name death.

The moth approached slowly. It was indeed an exciting thought: life without fear of at least one, one who he had, just minutes before, marked in his mind as his potential killer.

He flitted to the thicket's edge, and with the utmost caution, stretched out his legs, and touched down upon an intricate web of careful plot and design.

The spider lived happily ever after.

Bloop!

Once upon a time, there was a droplet of water. Hurtling down from the heavens at speeds he never dreamed of reaching, he reached out his hands, and pretended for a moment he was a bird, soaring through the clouds, diving down to catch an unlucky squirrel to feed his hungry nest-bound babies. An eagle, he was, just for a moment.

But then... alas, a moment is all he had left. This thought left him sad. He had grown to love the cloud in which he was formed. A bustling array of molecules, hydrogen and oxygen alike, all anxiously awaiting nature's call to be released into the unknown: the light, as they called it.

He had friends in his cloud. Friends so close, they would even be called family. Every day, as the cloud grew darker and darker, they would tell each other stories, rumors from the other droplets of the adventures that lay in store for the ones who were "called." The callings were growing more and more frequent, they would whisper, as the brilliant flashes would light up their excited faces.

Then one night, when all was calm, and the cloud drifted slowly through the soft, tranquil breeze, a large droplet appeared within the wisps of their circle, and began to tell his story.

He told of life before the cloud. Could such things be? He said, before this state of unknown, there was a time, a wonderful and joyous time, when we were all brothers and sisters of the same great droplet, one deep, blue, and so full of mystery and adventure that we could not comprehend it if it sat in front of us now! The Ocean, he called it, and to it, he claimed, we would all someday return.

Nonsense, the droplet thought to himself. Such things cannot be... The cloud is all I remember. The cloud is all I have, all I know... I do not dare think such things to be true.

But nonetheless, the words of the droplet rippled within his mind. It sounded so real, so beautiful... It would truly be a great thing, were it to be true. Perhaps it would not hurt to pretend.

And so the droplet pretended. When life in the cloud seemed mundane, hallow or even wispy, he would say to himself, "Ah, dearest self, you know it is not but a short time until you return to the Ocean." Time passed, and he realized: It began to give him power. It began to give him strength. It was not long until the thought of the Ocean became his lifestream, the water inside of him, and more real than the very cloud in which he lived. One day, he knew, he would return home.

And then he was called. It was sudden, without much warning. Yet somehow, he had known it would be coming. The unknown began to draw near. Wind whipped at his face, as his thoughts called upon what he had decided to be true. The ocean awaited. With all his might, he screamed as he fell downward, "I AM RETURNING HOME!"

He dove as an eagle. He felt sadness, yet he knew the others would join him in the end. He would not be alone.

Bloop!