The Prophet

by William Greeley

From the Book Of The People, Canticle 8:Sura 3:Ayat 22:

And it came to pass that a Prophet arose in the Land. The Prophet was tall and fearless with eyes of pale blue like the color of the sky reflected in the icicles of deepest winter. These eyes saw what no one else would see. The Prophet stood and looked around him and saw that the way of the People was not good in the Land.

The Land was but an island, the only island in the vast, vast sea of the world. It shot up from the sea in sheer cliffs of black rock made long ago by the volcano at the center of the island. In the hills around the dormant volcano lived the People.

The People were protected by the Robots. The Robots were good and wise and very old; they had come with the People in gleaming metal ships from a place 38 million stars away across the galaxy.

When the People awoke in the morning, the Robots fed them breakfast, then led them in exercises and directed their morning social activities. If an individual spent too much time alone, the Robots gently encouraged him to socialize. During the afternoons the Robots conducted games and sporting contests and sessions of arts and crafts. The Robots saw that no individual was unbalanced or lonely or different.

When an individual showed a passion for any activity such as sports or painting or philosophizing, the Robots discouraged this passion at its first budding. The Robots separated the young individual from his passion until he was socialized and balanced and passionless like the rest of the People. Conformity is balance, said the Robots.

So when the Prophet arose and spoke ideas that had not been spoken before, the People listened in awe and curiosity and fear. The Robots gently encouraged the Prophet to conform to the way of the People, but the Prophet would not listen to the Robots.

The Prophet stood atop a rock in the middle of a square. The People gathered at his feet, for they had never seen a man do this.

And the Prophet spoke. “People, wake up! We live in balance, but the People did not always do so. In ancient times they broke their balance to travel across 38 million stars to this world. And before that someone had to build the first spaceship and the first Robot and first house. Someone lost in the mists of time spoke the first word and sang the first song. This is how the People were, but it is not how the People are. Now we only do what has been done. We create nothing new.”

The People whispered among themselves and felt fear at these new ideas.

“Rise up, my People” continued the Prophet. “Rise up to smite the Robots! The Robots keep us in balance. We must kill them to grow, to find our true nature as creators of the new. Gather ye sticks and stones and jagged pieces of metal and broken planks of lumber. Strike down the Robots!”

So the People gathered up sticks and stones and jagged pieces of metal and broken planks of lumber. And the Robots gently directed them to form a circle around the Prophet.

And the People smote the Prophet with their sticks and stones and jagged pieces of metal and broken planks of lumber. Many hands rose up, then let fall on the Prophet with great fury. Blows fell on the body of the Prophet long after he was dead, until his form was a shapeless pulp of flesh and bone and blood.

And the blood of the Prophet trickled down the winding streets to the cliffs of black, and down the cliffs to make pink foam at the edge of the vast, vast sea.

And it was good.