The Mountain Path Parable
An AI-free Kajukenbo experiment in storytelling.
Whim ran up the mountain, and the shadow followed. Stephen King would have turned in his grave if he were dead.
The sun was rising when the shadow caught up. “Fight me” it said.
“Why?” asked Whim.
“Because you must. You have no choice.”
“But I can’t!” replied Whim.
“Then I will teach you.”
Out of the shadows walked a slow, lumbering giant. The giant punched Whim, and Whim fell, his wind knocked loose.
“Here is where we start.”
And the giant taught Whim how to strengthen his muscles, and how to toughen his body.
“Now strike me.”
“But I don’t know how.”
“Then I will teach you.”
And the giant taught Whim how to strike without hurting himself. Whim looked up, and the giant was gone. Out of the shadows came a boxer. “Fight me,” he said.
Whim took some blows and swung back at the boxer, but was quickly knocked down.
“I can’t,” said Whim.
“Then I will teach you.”
And the boxer taught him how to box. Whim looked up, and the boxer was gone. Out of the shadows came a kickboxer. “Fight me,” she said.
Whim used his boxing skills and toughened defense to square up with the kickboxer. He had improved and started to hold his own, but the kickboxer knew how to box as well, and Whim was no match for the kickboxer’s kicks.
“I can’t.”
“Then I will teach you.”
Whim learned to use his kicks alongside the boxing he had learned. He looked up, and the kickboxer was gone. Out of the shadows, a wrestler came. “Fight me,” the wrestler said.
Whim’s confidence had grown, but he was no match for a wrestler who knew how to defend against strikes.
“I can’t.”
“Then I will teach you.”
Whim learned to throw, to lock, to break, to choke, and to pin, and to maneuver when held. He learned how to incorporate his newfound skills with his striking.
“Which should I rely on more?” asked Whim. “What you have taught me, or what the boxer and kickboxer taught me?”
“That’s up to you,” replied the wrestler.
Whim looked up, and the wrestler was gone. Now arrogant, Whim waited for his next challenge. Out of the shadows walked a child. It had his face from years before. Whim faltered.
“Why don’t you smile?” asked the child.
“Because I can’t.”
“I will teach you.”
Whim dropped his hands and the two ran. They laughed, and played Nintendo, and made fun of the crazy old cat lady and her husband who lived on the mountain and yelled at clouds together. Whim was a child again, and the world became an innocent photograph moving to the sound of an old projector. He became aware of life around him, of happiness, innocence, and things worth fighting for, things worth killing for, and things worth living for. He learned the value of things worth remembering and defending. He looked up, and the child was gone.
The sky became dark. Thunder echoed off the mountain. The wind screeched.
Out of the shadows walked a giant spider, bigger even than the giant. Its fang-like chelicerae clicked. And clicked. And clicked. Its bristly fur was home to its children, who even now drank the blood of its screaming, smaller prey. Its eyes were hellfire; they reflected the Damned. Whim’s fear was the strike of the giant, again.
“Fight me,” said the spider.
“I…I can’t.”
“Then…I will teach you.”
And the spider taught Whim the Art. Whim learned of the soul’s expression through precise movement. He perfected his boxing, his kickboxing, his wrestling. He learned forms, he learned ancient weapons and forgotten footwork, he learned techniques that had no place in combat today but had been passed down for hundreds of years among those who sought glory. He learned the rhythm of dance in fighting, he learned the history of warriors before him, he learned the overcoming of limits as his body tired or his fear of the spider threatened to take his sanity. He forgot the fear he felt when the shadow had first overtaken him.
Then he looked up. And the spider was gone. The sun was rising again when the shadow approached him.
“Must we fight now?” asked Whim.
“No,” said the shadow. “Now you have the choice. Do as you will.”
The sun continued rising. Never again did Whim see one like it.
This was a parable I’ve had floating in my mind for years. What does it mean to you?
AI art was not used to accent the story, in support of artists who are against the recent use of AI art.
Awesome.