For Want of a Voice - Jae Choi

The sky is painted orange by the sinking sun; its light sweeps across a barren, empty plain. Empty, save for a lone rock standing defiantly against the light. As the sun gets lower, the rock’s sharp defined shadow grows longer and longer, until the outlines blur and there is only darkness left. Stars can be seen far away, but this world is pitch black. Will the rock be lonely by itself in the dark? Does it fear the absolute stillness of this existence? Does it care? No. It’s a rock.

What was once empty is now crowded with towering trees, adorned with vibrant green filigree. Even the sun struggles to penetrate through the canopy overhead. The ground is a carpet of green, and the air is thick and humid. Shuffling, buzzing, and clicking can be heard all around. The world is alive. But where is the rock? Oh there it is. It was hard to recognize, with its little green beard. Even it wasn’t able to escape the encroaching life. There are even insects burrowing in the ground underneath. Does it mind its new tenants? Would it like a shave? No. It’s a rock.

Much of the mighty greenery from before has receded. Replaced by colossal dinosaurs. Some are fleeing while others are chasing. Some shake the ground beneath them with each step, while others soar through the sky, flirting with the sun. I’m sure such powerful creatures will last a very long time. One of the giant flying ones is now perching on the rock. Is the rock racked with worry of being crushed by those talons? Perhaps it wants to be carried through the skies? No. It’s a rock.

All traces of the past are gone; buried under layers upon layers of time and ice. The only familiar sight left is our rock, still half trapped in frost, basking under the sun. You don’t seem to be looking so great there, still half frozen. You even have a large crack running down your side. Was it a result of water, ice, and changes in temperature? A loud crack rings out from our rock. Now there are two rocks. Does it feel less alone now? Was that painful? No. They’re a couple of rocks.

Thousands? Possibly tens of thousands? There are so many rocks huddled up in a wide line that it isn’t even worth counting them all. Besides, only one of them matters. There it is, under a tiny pocket of water near the edge. It looks nothing like it used to before. Its little sibling and its wounds have washed away long ago. When this place was still a great river, it must’ve eroded our rock down to its very core. So small and vulnerable now. Small enough that this burly man is able to hold it in his hand. He lifts our rock into the air, between two calloused digits and holding it up against the sun. At this moment, from this perspective, our tiny little friend is eclipsing the omnipresent light that was always there. How do you feel, finally breathing after being in the water for so long? To have your foot leave the ground for the first time?

“Hey, did you find something good?” asked another large man, carrying heavy prospecting tools while approaching the first.

After a moment of inspecting, he then placed our rock on a nearby workbench and lifted a hammer. The ensuing crack can be heard echoing throughout the surrounding valley. What remains of our rock are mere crumbs and dust; its ashes being blown away as the man brushes it off with the same hand that carried it a moment ago. 

“Hey, be careful. There could’ve been something in it.” he said, putting the tools down nearby.

“Who cares dude? It’s just a rock.”