Dad crossed the room and sat down on the bedside chair, “About what, honey?”
“I don’t know.”
He thought for a second, “How about I tell you a story, and you tell me how it ends.”
The girl looked up confusedly, “What if I don’t know how it ends?”
Dad lightly laughed, “that’s okay. Just tell me how you want it to end.”
Her face still wore a confused look, but she nodded, laid down, pulled her blankets up to her chin, and turned to face Dad.
“Once upon a time….”
There were two planets, both swirling around the same star. The star was a hot one, burning itself dry, and its planets were, for lack of a better word, vicious. Mixtures of black tar and lava so dry, hot, and unforgiving that it seemed impossible for them to change, but they did.
After the sun cooled, shining orange instead of yellow, Asmour, the closer planet, became blue instead of red and black. Oceans rose, and rivers spread until molten rock sank beneath the water while the landscape, which had borne tough creatures, spawned a wave of rapid evolution. A subspecies of Crabby crustacean which had always had a less dense shell now repurposed it to float and swim. Lava whales, known as “Pamras,” grew lighter and less armored fins to navigate the cooler water. Intelligent flying magma lizards, who called themselves Gugus, began to breathe the salty water from Gil-like organs in their chest.
And in the spurt of changing life, competition inevitably roiled in Asmours oceans. The whales grew quicker and more ferocious, and the Gugus learned to use tools, designing new strategies to prevent whale raids. The whales’ teeth grew longer, and the Gugus learned to speak and communicate complex language.
And those Gugus who did not think of ways to outsmart whales created art and wrote literature to inspire others to outsmart whales. They even asked difficult questions about what is good and evil. Was killing whales okay for the sake of survival? How else could they win the war?
While the struggle for dominance of Asmour’s oceans gripped its life, the other, more distant planet, Warren, also moistened. The oceans also rose, the rivers also spread. However, no life yet floated or swam in its seas.
Back amongst the Gugus, between friends, at family dinners, on flyers, and in classrooms, an idea spread fast and far. Its origins were unknown, but its popularity was sure, and eventually, a brave and outspoken Gugu brought it to the attention of the Council:
“If anything happens to us here on Asmour, it would be a good idea to have more Gugus on Warren. Even though we have little knowledge of the conditions of Warren’s new oceans, they may be inhabitable. We must send a group of us there immediately. We should have more of us elsewhere to ensure the survival of our species if the Pamras destroy us.”
The Council denied it. It was simply too dangerous. But as centuries went on, and as the Pamras grew more vicious, the collective sentiment shifted. Scientists completed studies, economists and mathematicians confirmed the existence of resources, and the Council relented, agreeing to send a pod of Gugus to inhabit Warren. The chosen to go had superb abilities in athletics, intelligence, and general survivability. They launched and sailed through cold space toward Warren and...
Dad took a sip from his water and cleared his throat.
“Dad?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Did they make it?”
“Well…”
Yes. They did, honey. They landed, the rocket deployed its pods, the scientists tested the water, and they discovered it to be almost identical to Asmour liquid. Astronomists theorized that Asmour and Warren were once one planet, now separate, as the composition and evolution of the planets were practically identical. The Gugus, with an intelligence unneeded to be dedicated to the daily struggles of avoiding the Pamras, now flourished. They developed sustainable methods of civilization throughout the seas. They founded thousands of universities. Philosophers developed philosophies, and peace reigned on a blue planet with excellent sunsets; a blue, red, and green collage painted a sky like a sherbert ice cream. Prosperity grew and the society, developing rapidly, in time amassed a fantastic amount of resources, far more than Asmour despite the smaller size of its population.
Back on Asmour, where billions of Gugus remained, the Pamra devastation only spread, as if it were a puddle of ink on a blank piece of paper. And it grew worse. Pamras were extremely wasteful creatures—they only processed around 20% of the food they ate. The remainder simply lingered in the ocean, taking many thousands of years to recycle into the ocean ecosystem. The Pamras growing population exceeded Asmour’s limit and the water, once clean and blue, became brown and black. This wasn’t all. The Pamra’s old talent of swimming through the dense lava was quite similar to swimming through a sludge-filled ocean. And so, swimming faster and more nimbly than ever, thousands upon thousands of Gugus died every day while the Pamras population only grew and the ocean’s only darkened.
The Gugus pleaded with their brothers and sisters in Warren for help. News of Warren’s prosperity spread across Asmour, and with these resources, Asmour was optimistic that they could together stamp out the Pamras for good.
However, the Warrenite Council heard the Asmour Gugus yells only as whispers due to the current issues on the new planet. A little Warren village had recently been hit by a small oceanic storm, causing the death of 2 children. An evil Warrenite Gugu, in a fit of rage, killed seven citizens in a shopping center. The Council voted to spend half its budget on storm preparation and half on educating the planet on why the murder was terrible.
The resources spent, the struggling Asmourian Gugus went unhelped by the Warrenite Government. While more Asmourians passed away, small circles of thinkers and university groups on Warren began to grow in frustration. How was it good to save a few of the closeby when they could save many of the far away with the same resources?
While the answer was obvious, many of the Warren Gugus, approving of how the government spent the money, defended Warren’s priorities: Why couldn’t the Asmourian Gugus help themselves? The Warren Gugus also faced danger occasionally—why should they spend their hard-earned money on Gugus across the solar system?
As debates occurred, the Gugu origin planet experienced growing death and destruction. As Pamras multiplied, the oceans grew dirtier, and the Pamras killed more—now, over 10,000 Asmourian Gugus passed away every day. The government of Asmour, along with its citizens, began to panic.
Finally, fundraisers and organizations on Warren began to raise money to help their neighbor planet. Door to door volunteers begged urged the Warrenites to hear the pleas of the Asmourians. Feeling a bit guilty and a bit excited to feel good about themselves, Warren Gugus funded a mission to send a device to clean the water of Asmour. They believed this device would prevent the Pamras from reigning further destruction on the Asmour population.
The Asmourian Gugus rejoiced at the news that help was on the way.
It took a while for the rocket to arrive. The Warrenite funds hadn’t had enough money to buy the quality rocket fuel. So another 100,000 or so Gugus passed away while waiting for the slow-burning rocket to traverse the solar system’s diameter.
Finally, the rocket entered the Asmour atmosphere, burned upon entry, and splashed into the ocean.
The Asmourians flooded around the ship, immediately opening the cargo hold to activate the device. The door swung open quickly, and the Asmouraians turned the machine on. The effects were devastating.
“Dad?”
“Yes, honey?”
“What did the water machine do?”
“It...
Cleaned the ocean, making the water smoother. At first, it seemed like the Pamras were slowing down. However, almost as soon as they slowed down, they sped up again. The regrown muscles used to swim through thick sludge could be used in lighter water in a different fin motion, catapulting the Pamras forward in the water with each stroke. They got faster and, with their speed, more agile.
The Asmourian Gugus experienced a wave of destruction unseen in the history of the Pamra—Gugu battle. Now it was millions of Gugus dying per day, and soon after. Billions.
The Warrenite Gugus gave the wrong type of help, so the “help” did not help at all. Now...
“Let me ask you, honey. How does the story end?”
The daughter, now enveloped in the blanket, looked up confusedly, “What?”
Dad looked down, “I told you that you get to decide how it ends.” He leaned back, “Well?”
The daughter thought for a long time. She closed her eyes for a few seconds.
Which turned into a minute.
Which turned into 5.
10.
20.
Dad thought she was asleep and was standing up slowly to turn the light off when his daughter whispered, “I want Warren Gugus to be smarter.”
Dad sat back down, “What do you mean?”
The girl again thought before responding, “I like the Gugus. I think they tried, and they had it hard sometimes.” The girl thought some more, her brow was furrowed and her lips pressed together in a light frown. Her face was disappointed and sad, “I think they could’ve made sure their machine wouldn’t hurt the Asmour Gugus. I feel like when the Gugus try to do good it shouldn’t end up hurting the Gugus they try to help. But that takes work, I guess.”
Dad nodded, “So, how would you like the story to end, honey?”
She thought again before speaking, “In my ending the Warren Gugus are going to try really really,” she took a big, dramatic breath, “REALLY hard to make sure they don’t harm anyone they try to help. Also, they’re going to care way more about the Asmourians. I just feel like that’s the right thing to do and it’s the way I want the story to end.”
Dad grinned broadly, “A wonderful ending.” Yet his smile grew somber, his mouth closing and the edges of his smile lowered. His gaze drifted downward, “I just hope you’re right.”
The daughter looked at him confusedly but before she could ask him what he meant Dad said, “You’ll learn someday. Goodnight, honey.”
[Creative Writing Contest] Bedtime Lessons
“Dad. Tell me a story.”
Dad crossed the room and sat down on the bedside chair, “About what, honey?”
“I don’t know.”
He thought for a second, “How about I tell you a story, and you tell me how it ends.”
The girl looked up confusedly, “What if I don’t know how it ends?”
Dad lightly laughed, “that’s okay. Just tell me how you want it to end.”
Her face still wore a confused look, but she nodded, laid down, pulled her blankets up to her chin, and turned to face Dad.
“Once upon a time….”
There were two planets, both swirling around the same star. The star was a hot one, burning itself dry, and its planets were, for lack of a better word, vicious. Mixtures of black tar and lava so dry, hot, and unforgiving that it seemed impossible for them to change, but they did.
After the sun cooled, shining orange instead of yellow, Asmour, the closer planet, became blue instead of red and black. Oceans rose, and rivers spread until molten rock sank beneath the water while the landscape, which had borne tough creatures, spawned a wave of rapid evolution. A subspecies of Crabby crustacean which had always had a less dense shell now repurposed it to float and swim. Lava whales, known as “Pamras,” grew lighter and less armored fins to navigate the cooler water. Intelligent flying magma lizards, who called themselves Gugus, began to breathe the salty water from Gil-like organs in their chest.
And in the spurt of changing life, competition inevitably roiled in Asmours oceans. The whales grew quicker and more ferocious, and the Gugus learned to use tools, designing new strategies to prevent whale raids. The whales’ teeth grew longer, and the Gugus learned to speak and communicate complex language.
And those Gugus who did not think of ways to outsmart whales created art and wrote literature to inspire others to outsmart whales. They even asked difficult questions about what is good and evil. Was killing whales okay for the sake of survival? How else could they win the war?
While the struggle for dominance of Asmour’s oceans gripped its life, the other, more distant planet, Warren, also moistened. The oceans also rose, the rivers also spread. However, no life yet floated or swam in its seas.
Back amongst the Gugus, between friends, at family dinners, on flyers, and in classrooms, an idea spread fast and far. Its origins were unknown, but its popularity was sure, and eventually, a brave and outspoken Gugu brought it to the attention of the Council:
“If anything happens to us here on Asmour, it would be a good idea to have more Gugus on Warren. Even though we have little knowledge of the conditions of Warren’s new oceans, they may be inhabitable. We must send a group of us there immediately. We should have more of us elsewhere to ensure the survival of our species if the Pamras destroy us.”
The Council denied it. It was simply too dangerous. But as centuries went on, and as the Pamras grew more vicious, the collective sentiment shifted. Scientists completed studies, economists and mathematicians confirmed the existence of resources, and the Council relented, agreeing to send a pod of Gugus to inhabit Warren. The chosen to go had superb abilities in athletics, intelligence, and general survivability. They launched and sailed through cold space toward Warren and...
Dad took a sip from his water and cleared his throat.
“Dad?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Did they make it?”
“Well…”
Yes. They did, honey. They landed, the rocket deployed its pods, the scientists tested the water, and they discovered it to be almost identical to Asmour liquid. Astronomists theorized that Asmour and Warren were once one planet, now separate, as the composition and evolution of the planets were practically identical. The Gugus, with an intelligence unneeded to be dedicated to the daily struggles of avoiding the Pamras, now flourished. They developed sustainable methods of civilization throughout the seas. They founded thousands of universities. Philosophers developed philosophies, and peace reigned on a blue planet with excellent sunsets; a blue, red, and green collage painted a sky like a sherbert ice cream. Prosperity grew and the society, developing rapidly, in time amassed a fantastic amount of resources, far more than Asmour despite the smaller size of its population.
Back on Asmour, where billions of Gugus remained, the Pamra devastation only spread, as if it were a puddle of ink on a blank piece of paper. And it grew worse. Pamras were extremely wasteful creatures—they only processed around 20% of the food they ate. The remainder simply lingered in the ocean, taking many thousands of years to recycle into the ocean ecosystem. The Pamras growing population exceeded Asmour’s limit and the water, once clean and blue, became brown and black. This wasn’t all. The Pamra’s old talent of swimming through the dense lava was quite similar to swimming through a sludge-filled ocean. And so, swimming faster and more nimbly than ever, thousands upon thousands of Gugus died every day while the Pamras population only grew and the ocean’s only darkened.
The Gugus pleaded with their brothers and sisters in Warren for help. News of Warren’s prosperity spread across Asmour, and with these resources, Asmour was optimistic that they could together stamp out the Pamras for good.
However, the Warrenite Council heard the Asmour Gugus yells only as whispers due to the current issues on the new planet. A little Warren village had recently been hit by a small oceanic storm, causing the death of 2 children. An evil Warrenite Gugu, in a fit of rage, killed seven citizens in a shopping center. The Council voted to spend half its budget on storm preparation and half on educating the planet on why the murder was terrible.
The resources spent, the struggling Asmourian Gugus went unhelped by the Warrenite Government. While more Asmourians passed away, small circles of thinkers and university groups on Warren began to grow in frustration. How was it good to save a few of the closeby when they could save many of the far away with the same resources?
While the answer was obvious, many of the Warren Gugus, approving of how the government spent the money, defended Warren’s priorities: Why couldn’t the Asmourian Gugus help themselves? The Warren Gugus also faced danger occasionally—why should they spend their hard-earned money on Gugus across the solar system?
As debates occurred, the Gugu origin planet experienced growing death and destruction. As Pamras multiplied, the oceans grew dirtier, and the Pamras killed more—now, over 10,000 Asmourian Gugus passed away every day. The government of Asmour, along with its citizens, began to panic.
Finally, fundraisers and organizations on Warren began to raise money to help their neighbor planet. Door to door volunteers begged urged the Warrenites to hear the pleas of the Asmourians. Feeling a bit guilty and a bit excited to feel good about themselves, Warren Gugus funded a mission to send a device to clean the water of Asmour. They believed this device would prevent the Pamras from reigning further destruction on the Asmour population.
The Asmourian Gugus rejoiced at the news that help was on the way.
It took a while for the rocket to arrive. The Warrenite funds hadn’t had enough money to buy the quality rocket fuel. So another 100,000 or so Gugus passed away while waiting for the slow-burning rocket to traverse the solar system’s diameter.
Finally, the rocket entered the Asmour atmosphere, burned upon entry, and splashed into the ocean.
The Asmourians flooded around the ship, immediately opening the cargo hold to activate the device. The door swung open quickly, and the Asmouraians turned the machine on. The effects were devastating.
“Dad?”
“Yes, honey?”
“What did the water machine do?”
“It...
Cleaned the ocean, making the water smoother. At first, it seemed like the Pamras were slowing down. However, almost as soon as they slowed down, they sped up again. The regrown muscles used to swim through thick sludge could be used in lighter water in a different fin motion, catapulting the Pamras forward in the water with each stroke. They got faster and, with their speed, more agile.
The Asmourian Gugus experienced a wave of destruction unseen in the history of the Pamra—Gugu battle. Now it was millions of Gugus dying per day, and soon after. Billions.
The Warrenite Gugus gave the wrong type of help, so the “help” did not help at all. Now...
“Let me ask you, honey. How does the story end?”
The daughter, now enveloped in the blanket, looked up confusedly, “What?”
Dad looked down, “I told you that you get to decide how it ends.” He leaned back, “Well?”
The daughter thought for a long time. She closed her eyes for a few seconds.
Which turned into a minute.
Which turned into 5.
10.
20.
Dad thought she was asleep and was standing up slowly to turn the light off when his daughter whispered, “I want Warren Gugus to be smarter.”
Dad sat back down, “What do you mean?”
The girl again thought before responding, “I like the Gugus. I think they tried, and they had it hard sometimes.” The girl thought some more, her brow was furrowed and her lips pressed together in a light frown. Her face was disappointed and sad, “I think they could’ve made sure their machine wouldn’t hurt the Asmour Gugus. I feel like when the Gugus try to do good it shouldn’t end up hurting the Gugus they try to help. But that takes work, I guess.”
Dad nodded, “So, how would you like the story to end, honey?”
She thought again before speaking, “In my ending the Warren Gugus are going to try really really,” she took a big, dramatic breath, “REALLY hard to make sure they don’t harm anyone they try to help. Also, they’re going to care way more about the Asmourians. I just feel like that’s the right thing to do and it’s the way I want the story to end.”
Dad grinned broadly, “A wonderful ending.” Yet his smile grew somber, his mouth closing and the edges of his smile lowered. His gaze drifted downward, “I just hope you’re right.”
The daughter looked at him confusedly but before she could ask him what he meant Dad said, “You’ll learn someday. Goodnight, honey.”