Coming back up

Coming back up

Short Story Unknown   11:47

Have you ever done any extreme sports? Are you an adrenaline junkie? Read this story about one man facing his fear.

Coming back up

by Chris Rose

So we’re driving along, a road in the middle of nowhere, a few trees now and then on each side of the road, mountains in the distance, there hasn’t been a town for ages and then you see this sign, not really a proper sign at all, just a piece of card with some words scribbled on it:

“Bungee Jumping, 5km”

and an arrow pointing to the left. I can’t even see a road going left, and there’s certainly no sign of any bungee jumping, but you insist, the idea has taken you, you’re crazy about it, you’ve always wanted to do bungee jumping, I know, you think I’m boring because I don’t want to go.

“Go on!” you insist, “We don’t even have to do the bungee jumping, we can just go there and see what’s happening. It’ll be interesting!” As usual, you get your way, I give in and off we go along this dirt road, for what seems much more than 5 kilometres to me. But then, after driving for ages, suddenly, out of nowhere, some trees appear, like a small wood.

“This must be the place,” you say. The roads narrows into just a path, so we pull over to the side of the road. I couldn’t drive down there if I wanted to. As soon as we’re out of the car we can hear voices: people shouting and laughing. They sound like young people, they sound like they’re having a good time.

We slowly walk to where the noise and people are. In the middle of the wood there’s a group of about 20 people. The youngest are about 15 or 16, while some of them are perhaps in their late 20’s.

They look up and see us, then say hello to us. They’re polite, friendly even, but I feel like we’re interrupting a private party – gatecrashing something they’re doing.

Once there had been a river running through the middle of the forest, but now there was just a dry ditch. It doesn’t matter; nobody is interested in swimming. A metal bridge crosses the ditch. The bridge doesn’t look too stable. I think the kids had built it themselves. There’s a big group of the kids in the middle of the bridge. They’re all leaning over and looking down into the ditch. They’re all shouting and laughing. Another person is hanging from a long piece of elastic rope in the middle of the ditch. He is laughing like he is mad. The other people slowly pull him up to the bridge. As the guy comes to the top he looks exhilarated and shocked, but also very, very happy.

I look at you and can see what you’re thinking.

“I want to do that!” you say. I knew it. And you know what I want to say:

“Danger!!! Damage to internal organs! Safety procedures! Damage to your eyes! The rope can burn you! You can get tangled up in the rope! You can dislocate your arm or your leg! It’s certain that you will get bruises on your arms! What happens if the rope breaks? Who knows who these people are? Have you any idea how far away from a hospital we are?” I don’t say it, but yes, you’re right, I am thinking it. I don’t say anything because I know that you won’t have answers for any of my questions. You know that I’m right, really.

You’ve always been a lot more adventurous than me. I know you think I’m boring and safe and always worried about danger and risk.

Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I am too boring.

I don’t know why people do it. I really don’t know. I remember when I was a kid, my friend had a bicycle that had no brakes. We used to take his bike without brakes and go down a big hill on it. I think about that, that old bike so many years ago, and I remember how I felt then.

I breathe in, close my eyes, don’t think about anything. I jump. I think I’m going forever and wonder when I’ll stop. But it feels great. I feel scared and thrilled and alive. Then there’s a pull and I’m going back up again, and, yes, it is dangerous, but yes it is thrilling. But the most exciting, thrilling, wonderful thing of all is seeing your face as I come back up to the bridge.

THE END

A Game of Go

A Game of Go

Short Story Unknown   11:42

Two people sit down to play a game. One is an old man who has spent all of his life playing this game, which is called Go. The other is a young woman. She has only been playing Go for three years.

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A Game of Go

by Chris Rose

Two people sit down opposite each other to play a game. Between them is a large wooden board. The board is rectangular in shape and it has black lines drawn on it in. There are 19 horizontal lines and 19 vertical lines, making 361 small black squares on the brown wooden board. Each player has some stones. The man has 180 white stones, and the woman has 181 black stones. All the stones are round and smooth. The white ones are made from the shells of clams; the black ones are made of slate. They have the stones in wooden bowls next to the board. When it is time to start playing, they slowly take the lids off the bowls.

One of the players is an old man. He is now 89 years old. He has spent all of his life playing this game, which is called Go. There are many other names for this game in the many parts of the world where it is played, but Go is the most common. The man has been playing Go since he was a small child. His father showed him how to place the big heavy stones on the board when he was three years old. He has never stopped playing since then. He is now the most famous player of Go in the world. People from all over the world call him “the Master”. People come from all over the world to play against him. Some people want to try and beat him; most people only want to watch and learn from him. The Master thinks that the game of Go is an art, and he thinks that he is an artist. He does not know how many games of Go he has played in his life, but thinks that even if he has played many thousands of games, then he has still not made anything near the number of possible combinations there are for this game. This game is very very simple, and very very complicated.

The two players place the stones they take from their opponent in the upturned lid of the wooden bowls. It will continue like this until one player can take no more stones. Then they will start to play again. They will play many games, until they eventually know who is the winner.

The other person is a young woman. The young woman has only been playing Go for three years. This is not a very long time It takes years to become an expert in this simple but complicated game. Before this, the woman was an expert at playing computer games. She was a computer games champion, and she won competitions in all types of computer games. She played in tournaments in Los Angeles, Tokyo and Munich, as well as many online tournaments, with people from all over the world. When she thought she could not win any more computer games, she looked for other games to play. She enjoyed playing poker, she became an expert at chess, but nothing captured her imagination like the simplicity of placing black or white stones on a simple wooden board. She studied hard and practiced a lot, the way she always did. She played to win. She thought of the game as a science. She calculated all the possible variations, using a computer to analyse techniques and strategies. She became a human computer when she played. She played Go the same way she had played computer games – by becoming a machine herself.

Both players are dedicated. Both players are obsessed. Both players think about nothing else but the game of Go from the moment they wake up until the moment they sleep, and even then they do not stop thinking about Go, as they have dreams about great games, in which they always win. Neither is married, neither has ever been in love with anything except the game of Go.

“When I was your age, it would have been impossible for us to play together” he says to her. They speak very little during the game.
“Why?” she asks.
“Young lady, you have not studied the history of this game. In the past, women did not play Go.” There is silence again. She might be irritated by the old man’s comment, but now she is playing Go, and so she feels no emotions. Her mind is not listening to the man, but calculating all the possible ways of placing her next stone. The old man, on the other hand, tries to listen to the woman very carefully. He watches her and studies her, looks at the movements of her hands and of her face. This is not only because he thinks that she is very beautiful, it is also because by understanding a person he knows how they will play. When he understands how a person moves, he understands their character. And when he understands their character, he understands their game. This has always helped him to win.

By placing the stones on the board, they both try to invade each other’s space, each other’s territory. White stones invade a black-bordered area, black stones try to fill a white-bordered area. At the end of each game, the board is a map of two countries, one black and one white. The board is map of their minds. Black and white mix together. Each player is learning something from the other.

He wins the first game, and the second, and the third. The woman’s face shows no emotion, and the man is confused. He agrees to continue playing. She wins the next game, and the man is shocked. This has never happened to him before. He rarely loses, and he has never lost to a woman.

The two players place their stones on the board using only their fingers, not their thumbs. It is necessary to think very carefully about where to put the stones, and to hold them properly. A long time passes between each move. They do not place the stones in the squares, this is not a game like chess or draughts, but on the corners where the lines meet.

The old man worries about the way the young woman is playing the game. He does not recognise her style, her strategy. He can’t read her face; he does not understand her. Sometimes, he thinks that he does not understand the world around him any longer.

“The way I think about the game” says the woman, “is that it is a series of steps for getting what I want.” Again, the old man is surprised. For him, the game is a way of life, life itself, and not a model of life. He worries about the dignity of the game, the elegance of the board. She worries about getting points.

“There is no more beauty any longer. Everything is science and rules. Everything is about winning. Nothing is about playing” he says.
“What sense does a game have if you don’t win?”
“The playing is the sense” replies the man.

People have been playing this game for 3000 years. Sometimes, the two players think, this game will last 3000 years. The man feels like he has been playing Go for 3000 years.

“This game was invented by generals. They used it to work out strategies for war. They used the stones to map out positions” he tells her. “And then they decided that it was better to have a game than have a war.”
“Are we at war now?” she asks. He wants to say no, but does not know how to reply.

“There is another story” says the young woman. “Go began when witches threw stones to tell fortunes.”
“Will this game tell our fortune?”
“It is better to play a game than try to tell the future” she says, and he is surprised again. This time he is surprised by how wise her words are.

“The future is a game that has already started. The future is waiting to see who the winner is” he says. “Every move you make determines what will happen in the future.”

They play Go for six months. At the end of six months, they know that their final game is close. The final game will decide who is the winner, and who the loser.

“A game is a metaphor for life.”
“No, life is a metaphor for a game.”

They cannot agree; but it is not necessary. They both look at the Go board in silence. It looks like a work of art, and also a scientific document. It is a map, a map of the game they played, and a map of their thoughts.

“Change is a necessary part of life” thinks the man.
“Playing is as important as winning” thinks the woman.

They start to play their final game.

Story by Mike Soanin

Story by Mike Soanin

Short Story Unknown   11:36

"On Lep Island, there was a masalai who had exactly ten heads. This masalai had two wives. The three of them lived happily together on their island…" Read this folk story from Papua New Guinea.

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The Masalai of Lep Island

Story by Mike Soanin
Translated by Thomas H. Slone

Long, long ago, in Manus Province, there was a small island behind Baluan Island [Baluan-Pam People]. This island was called Lep.

On Lep Island, there was a masalai who had exactly ten heads. This masalai had two wives. The three of them lived happily together on their island. There were many kinds of foods and fruits. Tree fruits filled the island.

There was no other person who lived on this island. It was just the masalai, his two wives, the animals, and the birds that lived there. The people of the big island, Baluan, often heard stories about Lep Island.

Many men would say, “Lep Island is just behind Baluan. There are many kinds of foods and wild animals there.” Sometimes, the people of Baluan would wake up in the morning and search the many good tree fruits that were lying about in the grasses and areas around their houses.

They would take these fruits and eat them. The fruits were very sweet. Some men took the fruits and tried to plant them near their houses, but the fruit trees did not grow well.

Many men of Baluan wanted to try to find this Lep Island. So one day, an old man and his little boy wanted to try. They took their canoe and paddled off to find Lep Island.

They paddled the canoe for ten whole days. Later, they saw a small island. They boy said, “Hey papa, I think that’s Lep Island over there!”

The father said, “Sssshhh, don’t talk loud. It would be bad if some man hears you and comes to kill us.” So the two of them paddled very quietly and went closer to this small island.

It was getting dark when they went towards the shore of the island. They did not go up on the beach. No, they were completely exhausted and slept in the canoe. Late that night, they heard the sweet bird songs of the island.

Oh my! The father and son heard bird songs and salivated [lit. “their mucus fell”] for this island. They did not know yet that a masalai lived on this island because they had come ashore on one end, and the masalai lived on the other end.

In the morning, they paddled up to the beach. They walked up the island and they gorged themselves on fruits.

Later, the father said, “Son, let’s try to see the other side of the island.” So they walked around the island and came to the other side. They were surprised to see smoke coming from a fire in the forest.

They said, “There must be some people living here. Let’s try to go closer and see this fire.” They walked very quietly and went closer and they saw two young women making a garden.

They did not show their faces. They hid and watched. The old father told his son, “We must hide and see where they go."

The women finished working and got up to walk away. The old man and the boy followed the two women to their home. They went there and saw a house standing there.

The old man saw the house and said, “I think that the two women live with their husband in that house.” But no, the two of them were married to a masalai with ten heads, and they lived in that house.

Later, the two women walked down to the beach to bathe. The old man walked very quietly and went inside the house. He heard a man breathing heavily inside a room.

The old man wanted to go closer, but he heard the two women returning. He sped outside and spoke to his son. He said, “We must hide inside the shed.” Then two of them went and hid inside the firewood shed.

They stayed there quietly until it was night. They did not sleep well that night. They tried to hear all the noises inside the house.

In the morning, the women woke up and cooked food. They left it there for their husband. They walked into the forest and continued to work in their garden. In the late afternoon, they would return to the house.

When the masalai woke up, he said, “Ah hah! I can smell a new kind of smell inside the house.” Then the ten heads got up and looked everywhere inside the house.

The masalai got up and walked around outside. Oh my! When the old man and boy saw the masalai, they gnashed their teeth and were completely afraid. They trembled fiercely inside the firewood shed.

They did not tremble quietly. The firewood trembled with them and fell about. The masalai looked and said, “Ah hah! I think that this smell is in the firewood shed."

So the masalai asked them, “Why did you two come here?” The old man said, “We came to look for fish in the sea and a strong wind came up, and the waves carried us ashore on this island."

The masalai listened to the old man’s story and he was sorry for them. He took the food and gave it to them. Then he hid them in his room. They hid in the masalai’s room until the afternoon.

The two women came back from the garden. They came and cooked some food. Later, they served the food, leaving some for their husband. They finished their food and went to sleep.

In the morning, the two women woke up. They wanted to look, but no! All their food was gone. They got up and cooked again. They left some for their husband and went back to the garden.

The two women returned in the afternoon and saw that all the food was gone. Some days later, they saw what was happening: the food was being finished very quickly.

They talked to each other and said, “Oh my! This masalai is not like before. Is he getting hungry too quickly? It would be bad if he found the food to be bad, and killed and ate us."

The women said, “We must find a way to run away to another place.” The poor women did not yet know that the old man and boy were in their house. The two of them only knew that the masalai’s food was being eaten.

One woman told the other, “I know a kind of vine in the forest. Let’s take it and cook it and give it to the masalai to drink. This liquid or soup from the vine can kill the masalai."

The next morning, the women went to work in the garden. Later, they removed the vine from the forest and brought it back to the house. They cooked the vine with the food.

The two women did not eat that night. The masalai ate and later he gave some to the old man and his son. They were famished and finished the food right away.

They all slept that night. The next morning, the masalai felt a big pain in his stomach. The poor old man and his son had died because the poison from this vine was very strong and killed them quickly.

The ten-headed masalai cried and turned about. When he called out and cried, the clouds in the sky broke and thundered. He wanted to cry, but no. A heavy rain fell. When his body trembled, all the places on the island shook with him.

The two women looked for a place to go, but they did not have a way to run away to another place. A strong wind came up. The clouds thundered. A heavy rain fell. A strong earthquake shook the island. Then the masalai died.

Water flooded over Lep Island. The two women, the ten-headed masalai, the old man and the boy all went down into the sea with the island.

If today you go around to the back side of Baluan Island, you can see a small reef in the sea. On Baluan, you can also see various kinds of good fruits and foods. People had planted these when the birds carried them from Lep Island to Baluan.

I believe that this story from the ancestors is a true story.

The Seven Ages of Man

The Seven Ages of Man

Short Story Unknown   11:33

"All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players…" The famous lines from Shakespeare's play As You Like It.

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The Seven Ages of Man

(from As You Like It, II, vii)

by William Shakespeare

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

The Stone Cutter

The Stone Cutter

Short Story Unknown   11:29

Once upon a time there was a stone cutter who set out to become the most powerful thing in the land. This fascinating tale from Asian mythology has a very powerful message.

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The Stonecutter

Once upon a time there was a stone cutter. The stone cutter lived in a land where a life of privilege meant being powerful. Looking at his life he decided that he was unsatisfied with the way things were and so he set out to become the most powerful thing in the land.

Looking around his land he wondered to himself what is it to be powerful. Looking up he saw the Sun shining down on all the land. "The Sun must be the most powerful thing that there is, for it shines down on all things, and all things grow from it's touch." So he became the Sun.

Days later, as he shone his power down on the inhabitants of the land, there came a cloud which passed beneath him obstructing his brilliance. Frustrated he realized that the Sun was not the most powerful thing in the land, if a simple cloud could interrupt his greatness. So he became a cloud, in fact, he became the most powerful storm that the world had ever seen.

And so he blew his rain and lightning, and resounded with thunder all over the land, demonstrating that he was the most powerful. Until one day he came across a boulder.

Down and down he poured and his thunder roared, lightning flashed and filled the sky, striking the ground near the boulder. His winds blew and blew and blew, and yet, despite all his efforts, he could not budge the boulder.

Frustrated again, he realized that the storm was not the most powerful thing in the land, rather it must be the boulder. So he became the boulder.

For days he sat, unmovable, and impassive, demonstrating his power, until one day, a stone cutter came and chiseled him to bits.

The Moral of the Story

Sometimes the most important thing to remember is that you have everything you need already, right inside of you. Power is an illusion.

King of the Pumpkins

King of the Pumpkins

Short Story Unknown   11:26

"Deep in the middle of the woods”, said my mother, “is the place where the King of the Pumpkins lives." A young boy and his cat try and find out what - if anything - is true about his mother's stories.

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King of the Pumpkins

by Chris Rose

“Deep in the middle of the woods”, said my mother, “is the place where the King of the Pumpkins lives.”

“But pumpkins live in fields, not in forests”, I said to my mother.

She wouldn’t listen to me. “I’m telling you”, she said, “the King of the Pumpkins lives in the middle of the woods, and the woods that he lives in are the woods right next to our house, the woods you can see out of the window over there”. She pointed with her hand to the woods that were, in fact, just outside the window behind our house. “He doesn’t live in a field like the other pumpkins” continued Mother, “because he’s not an ordinary pumpkin. He’s the King Pumpkin”.

I shut up and decided to believe her, like you do when you’re a kid. Firstly I knew that it wasn’t worth arguing with my mother. She always won. Secondly, when you’re a kid, you always believe what grown-ups tell you, no matter how stupid it is. Like Santa Claus and stuff like that. Kids always believe it, even though they know it’s stupid.

Still, I decided to go and find the King of the Pumpkins, partly because I was bored, partly because I was curious, and also – of course - because I wanted to know if my mother really was talking nonsense or not.

Mother often talked nonsense, I have to say that. There was the time she told me that the moon was made of cheese. I knew that was nonsense. Then there were all the stories she told me. Stories about frogs, princesses, princes and shoes. Stories about donkeys and unicorns, gnomes and elves, magic mirrors and magic cooking pots. Stories about why the stars are exactly the way they are, why the river that runs through our town has the name that it has, stories about where the sun comes from, why the sky is so far away and why the elephant has a long trunk.

Some of these stories, I think, might have been true. I was never sure, and it was difficult to find out. This time though, with this story about the King of the Pumpkins, it was going to be easy to find out if she was telling the truth or not.

Some people used to call my mother a witch, but I knew that she wasn’t a witch. Just a bit strange perhaps. And she used to talk nonsense. Perhaps it was also because of the black cat we had. People say that witches always have black cats, and we had a black cat. But Mog wasn’t a witch’s cat. He was just a regular black cat. Mog could talk, though, I have to say that. Perhaps that isn’t so regular in a cat, now I think about it.

Anyway, I was telling you about the time I went to find the King of the Pumpkins. I set off with Mog the cat into the woods to look for the King of the Pumpkins. Even though we’d lived in that house near the woods all my life, I had never gone into the middle of the woods. This was the first time. I was glad I had Mog with me. I was a bit scared, even though I didn’t really think that the King of the Pumpkins lived there. “Watch out for the wolves!” said Mog. “Yes…and the grandmothers too!” I joked. “Let’s not leave the path!” said Mog.

When people said my mother was a witch, I told them that witches don’t have children. “Yeah” they replied, “That’s true. But you look more like an elf than a regular kid.” I looked in the mirror to see if I looked like an elf or not. I think I looked like a regular kid, but you never can tell really.

“Do you think he’s real?” I asked Mog.
“Who, the wolf? He certainly is” replied Mog.
“No, not the wolf. I know the wolf is real” I said to Mog. Sometimes I could hear the wolf howling at night. I knew he was real. “No, not the wolf. The King of the Pumpkins. Do you think he’s real?”
“Don’t know” said the cat. “Guess we’ll just have to find out.”

We walked on into the forest. The trees got taller and taller and taller. The path got narrower and narrower and narrower.
“What does he do, then, this King of the Pumpkins?” asked Mog.
“I don’t know really” I said. “I guess he just kind of is head pumpkin, boss pumpkin, he decides on pumpkin rules and pumpkin laws, and punishes people who break them.”
“Oh, I see” said Mog. He was quiet for a bit, then said,
“What kind of things are pumpkin rules then?”
“Erm, how big you can grow. What colour you have to be. Stuff like that.”
“You’re making this up, aren’t you?” asked Mog.
“Yeah,” I said.

Eventually, we got to the middle of the forest. At least I think it was the middle of the forest, but it’s difficult to say exactly. There was a clearing, a big space where there were no trees. In the middle of the clearing was the King of the Pumpkins.

At least, I think it was the King of the Pumpkins. It looked like a man at first. He was quite tall and had legs and arms made from sticks. He was wearing an old black coat. His head was a pumpkin. His head was the biggest pumpkin I had ever seen.

Me and Mog went up close to him. He didn’t say anything.
“Is that it?” asked Mog.
“I guess so.” I said.
“Disappointing” said Mog.
“Do you think he’s the real King of the Pumpkins?” I asked Mog.
“Who knows?” replied the cat.

As we walked back along the path out of the forest, I started to think about what was real and what was not. Could things that were made up also be true? What was the difference between “story” and “history”? One is real and the other isn’t – is that it?
“What about all those other things that Mother talks about, do you think they’re real?” I asked Mog.
“Hmmm…I’m not sure” said Mog. “Those stories she tells sometimes…about why the night is black and the day is blue, about golden eggs and girls with golden hair, about why people have ten fingers, ten toes, two feet, two hands and two eyes…Sometimes I think she’s crazy, and sometimes I think she might be right…”
I knew what Mog meant. I felt the same way.

“Perhaps the stories aren’t true” I said, “but what they mean is.”