The Girl Who Looked Up
Summary
Once upon a time, there was a girl, this was before storms, before memories, and before legends—but there was still a girl. She wore a long scarf, a vibrant red scarf twin tails extending far behind her blowing in the wind. The girl in the scarf played and danced, as girls do today. In fact, most things were the same then as they are today. Except for one big difference. The wall.
A high, terrible wall stretching toward the moons. Blocking the sky, throwing everything around the girl into shadow. The girl stepped toward it, looking up, straining to see the top.
You see, in those days, a wall kept out the storms and the light. Of course, even without light, people still had to live, didn’t they? That’s what people do. I hasten to guess it’s the first thing they learn how to do. So they lived in the darkness, farmed in the darkness, ate in the darkness. The wall had existed for so long, nobody knew how it had been built. That did not bother them. Why wonder when the mountains began or why the sky was high? As these things were, so the wall was. So the girl danced in its shadow, and other people, they worked as farmers or washwomen, doing their duties with heads bowed. ONLY the girl looked up at that wall, her twin scarf tails streaming behind her.
She approached a man standing behind a small cart. of fruit, “Why is there a wall?” she asked the man selling fruit. “To keep the bad things out,” he replied. “What bad things?” “Very bad things. There is a wall. Do not go beyond it, or you shall die.” The fruit seller picked up his cart and moved away. And still, the girl looked up at the wall. “Why is there a wall?” she asked the woman suckling her child. “To protect us,” the woman said. “To protect us from what?” “Very bad things. There is a wall. Do not go beyond it, or you shall die.” The woman took her child and left. The girl climbed a tree, peeking out the top, her scarf streaming behind her. “Why is there a wall?” she called to the boy sleeping lazily in the nook of a branch. “What wall?” the boy asked. The girl thrust her finger pointedly toward the wall. “That’s not a wall,” the boy said, drowsy. “That’s just the way the sky is over there.” No he’s wrong the girl thought, “It’s a wall,” the girl said. “A giant wall.” He considered, “It must be there for a purpose,” the boy said. “Yes, it is a wall. Don’t go beyond it, or you’ll probably die.”
“Well, these answers did not satisfy the girl who looked up. She reasoned to herself, if the wall kept evil things out, then the space on this side of it should be safe. So, one night while the others of the village slept, she sneaked from her home with a bundle of supplies. She walked toward the wall, and indeed the land was safe. But it was also dark. Always in the shadow of that wall. No sunlight, ever, directly reached the people.
The girl traveled far, no predators hunted her, and no storms assaulted her. The only wind was a pleasant one that played with her scarf, and the only creatures she saw were the crickets that creaked at her as she walked.
Then at long last, the girl in the scarves stood before the wall. It was truly expansive, running as far as she could see in either direction. And its height! It reached almost to the heavens! She climbed and climbed. There were outcroppings in the wall, things like spikes or hunched, ugly statues. She had climbed the highest trees all through her youth. She could do this. The girl kept climbing. The climb took days. At night, the girl who looked up would tie herself a hammock out of her scarf and sleep there. She picked out her village at one point, remarking on how small it seemed, now that she was so high. As she neared the top, she finally began to fear what she would find on the other side. Unfortunately, this fear did not stop her. She was young, and questions bothered her more than fear.
So it was that she finally struggled to the very top and stood to see the other side. The world burst alight in a sudden explosion: a brilliant and powerful brightness that lit the landscape beyond the wall. The girl in the scarf gasped and saw the world in all its colors for the first time. Green trees, blue sky, red rocks, fields of golden grain all on the hidden side, and on that side of the wall, the girl saw steps. The back side of the wall was crisscrossed with enormous sets of steps leading down to the ground, so distant. The girl stared at those steps, and suddenly the gruesome statues on her side of the wall made sense. The spears. The way it cast everything into shadow. The wall did indeed hide something evil, something frightening. It was the people, like the girl and her village. She climbed down the steps, scarves streaming and hid among the creatures who lived on this side. She sneaked up to the Light and she brought it back with her. She was chased by the people from the land of light the whole way to the other side. To to the land of shadows. And then … light, for the first time in the village, followed by the coming of the storms—boiling over the wall. The people suffered from the storms and their destruction, but each storm brought light renewed, for it could never be put back, now that it had been taken. And people, for all their hardship, would never choose to go back. Not now that they could see.
When they undoubtedly ask you what it means I think this would be an appropriate response Brandon would be proud of...
“The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon.”
A high, terrible wall stretching toward the moons. Blocking the sky, throwing everything around the girl into shadow. The girl stepped toward it, looking up, straining to see the top.
You see, in those days, a wall kept out the storms and the light. Of course, even without light, people still had to live, didn’t they? That’s what people do. I hasten to guess it’s the first thing they learn how to do. So they lived in the darkness, farmed in the darkness, ate in the darkness. The wall had existed for so long, nobody knew how it had been built. That did not bother them. Why wonder when the mountains began or why the sky was high? As these things were, so the wall was. So the girl danced in its shadow, and other people, they worked as farmers or washwomen, doing their duties with heads bowed. ONLY the girl looked up at that wall, her twin scarf tails streaming behind her.
She approached a man standing behind a small cart. of fruit, “Why is there a wall?” she asked the man selling fruit. “To keep the bad things out,” he replied. “What bad things?” “Very bad things. There is a wall. Do not go beyond it, or you shall die.” The fruit seller picked up his cart and moved away. And still, the girl looked up at the wall. “Why is there a wall?” she asked the woman suckling her child. “To protect us,” the woman said. “To protect us from what?” “Very bad things. There is a wall. Do not go beyond it, or you shall die.” The woman took her child and left. The girl climbed a tree, peeking out the top, her scarf streaming behind her. “Why is there a wall?” she called to the boy sleeping lazily in the nook of a branch. “What wall?” the boy asked. The girl thrust her finger pointedly toward the wall. “That’s not a wall,” the boy said, drowsy. “That’s just the way the sky is over there.” No he’s wrong the girl thought, “It’s a wall,” the girl said. “A giant wall.” He considered, “It must be there for a purpose,” the boy said. “Yes, it is a wall. Don’t go beyond it, or you’ll probably die.”
“Well, these answers did not satisfy the girl who looked up. She reasoned to herself, if the wall kept evil things out, then the space on this side of it should be safe. So, one night while the others of the village slept, she sneaked from her home with a bundle of supplies. She walked toward the wall, and indeed the land was safe. But it was also dark. Always in the shadow of that wall. No sunlight, ever, directly reached the people.
The girl traveled far, no predators hunted her, and no storms assaulted her. The only wind was a pleasant one that played with her scarf, and the only creatures she saw were the crickets that creaked at her as she walked.
Then at long last, the girl in the scarves stood before the wall. It was truly expansive, running as far as she could see in either direction. And its height! It reached almost to the heavens! She climbed and climbed. There were outcroppings in the wall, things like spikes or hunched, ugly statues. She had climbed the highest trees all through her youth. She could do this. The girl kept climbing. The climb took days. At night, the girl who looked up would tie herself a hammock out of her scarf and sleep there. She picked out her village at one point, remarking on how small it seemed, now that she was so high. As she neared the top, she finally began to fear what she would find on the other side. Unfortunately, this fear did not stop her. She was young, and questions bothered her more than fear.
So it was that she finally struggled to the very top and stood to see the other side. The world burst alight in a sudden explosion: a brilliant and powerful brightness that lit the landscape beyond the wall. The girl in the scarf gasped and saw the world in all its colors for the first time. Green trees, blue sky, red rocks, fields of golden grain all on the hidden side, and on that side of the wall, the girl saw steps. The back side of the wall was crisscrossed with enormous sets of steps leading down to the ground, so distant. The girl stared at those steps, and suddenly the gruesome statues on her side of the wall made sense. The spears. The way it cast everything into shadow. The wall did indeed hide something evil, something frightening. It was the people, like the girl and her village. She climbed down the steps, scarves streaming and hid among the creatures who lived on this side. She sneaked up to the Light and she brought it back with her. She was chased by the people from the land of light the whole way to the other side. To to the land of shadows. And then … light, for the first time in the village, followed by the coming of the storms—boiling over the wall. The people suffered from the storms and their destruction, but each storm brought light renewed, for it could never be put back, now that it had been taken. And people, for all their hardship, would never choose to go back. Not now that they could see.
When they undoubtedly ask you what it means I think this would be an appropriate response Brandon would be proud of...
“The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon.”
