The Pebble

There was only Darkness.

A great, all-encompassing Darkness that filled every corner of the world with a blackness that tainted and devoured. An endless motley shade of midnight and grey, indigo and deep purple, it raged like a mad beast; frenzied and terrifying. Its undulating movement pummelled like the waves of a ferocious storm called forth by the old sea gods—had they still existed within this Darkness that left no question of life beyond itself.

It seemed to have no purpose other than to spread fear and pain, and seep into every vulnerable crack. Whether it was barraging abandoned shores or poisoning the air, it searched for everything that could be destroyed. Nothing was permitted to survive.

Yet there was a survivor: a tiny white pebble completely at the mercy of the Darkness yet resilient. Swept up in the storm, it was battered and tossed around; or sometimes still—surrounded by a menacing calm as the Darkness lay in wait. With the Darkness enveloping everything, it was inevitable that the pebble would be struck repeatedly; so insignificant that it seemed likely the pebble would be destroyed alongside everything else. Yet still the pebble remained whole, somehow unable to be completely destroyed by the Darkness. The Darkness only became more enraged, and concentrated its efforts. Eternally trembling from repeated blows, the pebble felt the Darkness consume and rage, each blow leaving its mark yet still failing to destroy. The tides of the Darkness carried the little pebble along in its madness, and the battle between the monstrous Darkness and the tiny pebble became its own legend.

After three years of submitting to the tide of Darkness, the battered pebble washed up unexpectedly on a new shore. Although the rage of the Darkness had simmered somewhat, it still hung poisonous in the air. Yet the shore the pebble was now part of seemed less affected; the Darkness was broken by patches of light, which exposed a beach full of fine sand, and dust and  ̶  more pebbles. As the pebble lay in the momentary calm of this new reality, the matter around it drifted closer. Some combination of light and untainted water allowed the various fragments to become fused together, so that the first pebble was unexpectedly strengthened against the Darkness’s inevitable forthcoming attacks. When the Darkness renewed its raging, throwing the pebble back and forth sporadically, the pebble was hardier, and every time it rolled into the light a little more sand and pebble dust stuck to it so that it became increasingly bigger with each hit it took.

Almost as though in response, the Darkness became less. It was no less menacing, but its presence became smaller; its attacks, fewer. It took on a more solid shape; grew smaller.

Transformed.

By the time the seven year mark came around, the Darkness had become a three-headed Demon with six eyes firmly focused on the pebble. It had three ugly faces, long claws and sharp teeth and was constantly gnawing on the pebble with each of its mouths.

The rest of the world was left to rebuild, regrow. It began to flourish with this new opportunity for life, and colour crept back into the world. It used the newfound peace to develop and spread light wherever it could, determined to counteract the destruction caused by The Darkness. The new world was stronger for what it had suffered, and peace reigned.

The legendary battle between the Darkness and the pebble continued, but now it was a discreet, personal battle. The Demon knew it was losing—the sandstone shell now encasing the pebble had hardened, and though there were weaknesses these were few. Truth was, with all of the extra layers the pebble had accumulated over the past four years, it had now become almost a boulder, and its size was much bigger than that of the Darkness Demon.

The persistent Demon leapt around the pebble, lunging in to attack and then withdrawing to disappear into an inky cloud, only to attempt again from a different angle. It was merciless.

Yet each time the Demon attacked, the pebble withstood the blows a little better. The weight of the sand and pebbles that made up its skin now anchored it, keeping it stable in the chaos of the Darkness Demon’s attacks. The Demon diminished. The demon became small.

Despite its less frequent successes, the demon was not to be underestimated. When it did manage to take a bite with its sharp teeth, or slice the pebble with its claws, something of a scream issued forth from the pebble. But the pebbles and sand that made up the hardened new layers were strong. Each blow was absorbed by many, and thus weakened. The demon became less.

The final blow was a realisation, and it was this:

The shrinking of the darkness was no mere coincidence. It was no inevitable decline caused by time. The Darkness, darkness, demon—in every form it shared one thing.

Does the darkness …?

Seven years of madness and raging and hate and bitterness.

Maybe?

Seven years of storms and poison and pain.

Just maybe?

Seven years attempting to destroy that which refuses to be destroyed.

Fear the Pebble?

Thus the demon was vanquished, and light was restored.

And the Pebble was free.