I'm not sure if I'll post this or not. It's not the kind of thing I typically post, but maybe. It's just a fragment that is looking for a story that I haven't thought of. I think I will post it though. One of the luxuries of not having any readers is you can post whatever the hell you want, and none of your readers will mind. May as well make the most of that, right?
Perpetual motion...
There is a place and in this place there is a ground on on that ground there is a sphere. The sphere is rolling along the ground. Ponderously. And it looks as though the sphere is itself moving in a round, circular pattern but the sphere is too large, the course too long, the movement too slow for you to tell if that is the case. No, the sphere is not moving quickly. It's not slow either, particularly, but it is moving inexorably. There is a feel of inevitability to it, as if nothing, no matter how large, how strong, how small, or how subtle, will change its course or speed by the merest bit. The ball, it moves. And it does not stop. Not ever. Tie a million ropes to it and it will snap them, without changing its course one bit. Send a million men to stand in front, to push back, and it will smash them without even acknowledging their existence. Bend your greatest thoughts, your keenest insights, your most piercing genius to its cessation and it is all in vain. It is, in essence, inevitable. And inscrutable. There is no way to know what it is, or why it is. Only that it is, and that it moves.
And I think, if you think about it, you will know that this thing does exist, in some way, somewhere. That it must exist. You may worship it, or you may fear it, or you may ignore it. You may love, hate, or disdain it, and that says everything about you and nothing about it. Nothing about the sphere, the motion, the force. But it exists.
And it moves.
