Rock'em Sock'em {Maye vs. Granite Golem} - Day 3

Stillness was a comfort to him.

He knew not of anything that came before, of the mountains, like ancestors to him, that stood the tests of time. He knew only of the long nights and longer days, when the sun filled him with a warmth that thawed even icy bones made of stone. He knew of hunger, of thirst, of a deep instinct to wait because eventually food would come. And he did wait. He waited with the patience of the river that cut canyons over centuries. Because there was something about stillness that held a promise of something on its way, of something worth waiting for.

And it was fate when food finally came.

He was not very smart. It didn't matter. He sensed movement, and something in him shifted, old bones creaking to life. He liked the stillness, the comfort of a life he'd been living since the beginning, but the hunger made him to uncurl his spine and rise up toward the sun like something green and living rather than the mostly dead thing he felt like sometimes.

It was a fleshy, soft thing, small and easy to break. He'd never seen one before, yet some quiet voice inside of him, gentle and prodding, informed him that this was the very best kind of food. This was the food he was made to eat, whether he realized it or not.

It was loud, though, with something that shone like polished stone briefly before striking him. The pain was unexpected and he stumbled back with a grunt, blinking at the fleshy creature. Perhaps not an easy meal, but he was hungry and it had been days.

He was not very smart. It didn't matter. He knew how to eat.

He was not smart enough to understand his own strength. He could not comprehend that his skin was as strong as the land that surrounded them, that he was designed to be impenetrable and unbreakable. He'd never known his ancestors, the mountains, or his fallen cousins, the canyons, struck down by the mighty river. He did not realize that when the fleshy creature struck directly though his giant fist, it was a feat that would have crowds all across what was left of the earth roaring in disbelief.

All he knew was that when the soft bit of moving food hit him, it hurt.

He staggered back with a roar of surprise, swinging his fist blindly in front of him before drawing it toward his face. It could not be fixed, not as far as he knew. Which was not much. He knew pain now, though, and that the soft fleshy thing had hidden tricks. It was smarter than he was.

But he was the earth, borne of the sun and sky and sworn enemy of the mighty river, and he would not stand down.

He was hungry.

Staggering forward, he narrowed his gaze on the fleshy creature. He roared again, hoping to startle it enough to prevent another polished stone stinging thing being struck into his skin again, and swung with his good fist.

Sometimes, there were days upon days when he would lie against the ground and nothing would come. He would let the sun beat down against him until his very bones felt molten, and at night each breath would cool him back to stone. Though he sometimes thought the sun was like a good friend, staying with him over those long hours, it was the moon that he truly loved. Silver and white, cold, like him.

He thought he needed companions during those times of waiting. It wasn't that he wasn't patient - sometimes he felt that he was only patient with no room for anything else - but more that he was lonely. His thoughts, simple though they might be, were trapped within his own head. He grew tired of the earth beneath him being the only other presence he knew.

The loud fleshy thing, however, made him think that perhaps being alone wasn't such a bad thing.

He'd never seen such a volatile, crazy creature. How could something so soft and small be so loud? And where did it get such sharp polished stone from? Someone a long time ago had programmed him to recognize this animal as food, but now he was beginning to doubt even his own instincts.

Was it scared of him? If it was, he wasn't sure why it kept attacking him. It was too soft to consume him, so why not simply run away?

Perhaps it wasn't very smart, either.

He was growing tired of the loud, fleshy thing with the sharp stones.

It wasn't so much that it kept hitting him. He didn't understand why it tried to fight back, but it wasn't the first and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Some creatures, like him, just weren't all that bright. He could withstand the hits, especially now that he was expecting them. He was stone, unyielding, tireless.

It was more that the creature felt the need to continuously howl and yelp and make all the other strange noises that it was making. He briefly considered trying to keep up a steady roar just to give it a taste of its own medicine, or perhaps to make it so that he could only hear himself rather than its high pitched, yippy sounds, but instead remained silent and just keep fighting.

He had the patience of his ancestors, the mountains, but this creature was was wearing it down quickly.

He thought about leaving it alone until it tired of its own voice, but something deep within him protested. He wasn't sure how, but that part knew that this creature was the tastiest kind of food. It may be loud and annoying and soft, but in the end putting an end to its noise would be well worth it.

He stepped forward again and was surprised to find that as hungry as he was, he was more determined to simply silence it.

He grunted in surprise, but not because of the pain. No, slow as he was he'd learned that this little fleshy creature was good at delivering small blows that were gradually beginning to slow him down. He was more surprised by its proximity.

He did not know much. Whatever had designed him had designed him to be large and strong, not smart. But he did have enough self awareness to know that he was a fairly intimidating sight to behold. He knew enough to understand that this creature, loud and annoying and strange as it was, was scared of him. And yet, here it was, striking him close range, trying to act brave.

Perhaps that was why he was so good at being alone. When he was alone, he didn't have to worry about acting a certain way. He didn't have to tower above another creature and pretend that the blows he was taking didn't hurt. But who was this creature pretending for? It had every right to be afraid of him. He certainly wouldn't blame it for keeping its distance.

He wasn't designed to live with other creatures. It wasn't part of his internal programming. He didn't know that, though. All he knew was that in that moment, he felt a brief connection with the fleshy creature.

Then he forgot it, because he was still hungry, the thing in front of him was still food, and it still refused to shut up.

He staggered back and blinked in pain, surprised that this blow hurt so much more than all the others. Perhaps the fleshy creature had even more tricks than he'd realized. He was strong and patient and unyielding, but he was not smart. He felt the first jab of fear as he realized, rather belatedly, that this creature could be smarter than him, even if it didn't act like it.

And if it was smarter than him, it could kill him. There was no question about that.

His ancestors were the mountains. He was made of stone, designed to be terrifying and intimidating and large and strong. But the patience of the mountains crumbled against the persistence of the river.

Was this creature the river?

When he tried to rise again, he realize he couldn't. He was not smart enough to question this. The creature - the river creature? - had killed him. He glanced at it through his blurry vision and thought perhaps it was not so bad, a creature that could conquer a giant such as him.

And then he finally - finally - slipped into silence.

(end of Rockwell)