A Parable of the Captivated and Cursed
The universe has perfect balance; a proton to neutralize every electron. Humanity does not.
Human beings possess a unique gift; the capacity to unite in benevolence. But more often than not when they congregate, it is only to disturb the world’s equilibrium. They spill blood, wage wars, and etch scars upon the earth. The Earth, however, is no passive observer to their destructive antics. Since the dawn of human civilization, it has been one step ahead, adapting to humanity’s continual barrage of strikes in its own ways. What they are, I do not know. I can only speak of one of its anomalies; the Isle of Hart.
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This was an island that defied all logic. Located in the Labrador Sea, an arm of the Northern Atlantic ocean, the Isle of Hart remained an oasis of tropical vibrance and warmth unlike its closest geographical neighbor, Greenland, of which 80 percent is covered in ice. It was a mystery, yet a testament to the Earth's resilience. Perhaps as a result of the peculiar climate, plant life flourished on the Isle in an array of unique fruits and flora that had never been discovered anywhere else. They adorned the landscape with meticulous precision, as if tended by master gardener akin to Tim Burton’s “Edward Scissorhands”. Strangely, no humans inhabited this land. No signs of civilization marred the pristine shores, no footprints, no structures, or roads. This island lived and breathed in perfect solitude, and its lush gardens were thereby unaffected by the chaos that plagued the human world.
It was the summer of 1956 when my father set sail on the "Martiner," our family’s fishing vessel that had traversed the Southern parts of the Labrador Sea, typically sailing northeast of our hometown near St. John’s, Newfoundland. Our livelihood depended on the bountiful catches my father and his crew brought back. However, on this particular voyage, their fishing nets yielded a cluster of vibrant, exotic flora, entangled within a mound of fleshy haddock. But it wasn't the presence of these unique plants that intrigued my father, it was the direction from which they came. The compass, or rather his curiosity, led him eastward, deeper into the Atlantic and further from home. As his crew ventured further, their insistence on turning back faded as they made way to a gentle warmth, and the grey skies cleared to reveal a brilliant sun.
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My father's desire for change grew stronger with each passing day. He was tired of the rough sailor life, the constant battles with the sea, and the uncertain future it offered. He yearned for a new beginning, and the chance to escape the relentless cycle of his humble life. He felt this desire transcend into something above him as he ventured closer to the island’s shore.
"Captain Hart!" exclaimed my father's crew mate, Benjamin, his voice filled with apprehension, as he swatted a foreign fruit out of my father's outstretched hand. "You mustn't touch it, you don't know if it's safe."
With a dismissive wave, my father brushed him aside. "Nonsense," he retorted, his voice tinged with impatience. "I’ve sailed through storms and rough seas. Do you truly believe I can be taken down by something so small?”
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My father reached out once more, this time taking a bite of the fruit in spite of poor old Benjamin, who pursed his lips and shook his head disapprovingly. My father closed his eyes and made a wish from the depths of his weary heart. You might expect he would undergo a stark transformation, growing wings and emitting angelic light. Or perhaps he would turn red and sprout horns from his skull. Maybe even the divine voice would speak out from above, echoing to this son of Adam, as a reminder of what happened when one ate uninviting fruits from fantastical trees. But as he chewed, the fruit, vibrant purple and pear-like in appearance, tasted disappointingly ordinary, and nothing happened. He felt as if the Island had played a jest.
Indeed it had. My father, once known for his humility and camaraderie amongst the sailors, underwent a new kind of transformation. He became consumed by new ambitions, for power, and wealth. The charm that had once endeared him to his faithful community now served to manipulate others for selfish gain. It seemed to grant portals to new beginnings, often at the expense of existing commitments. In essence, it led him to pursue what lay beyond his reach, and fail to persevere through the blessings he already held.
The townspeople had fallen deeply under the spell of my father's story and the allure of the Isle of Hart. They devoured the exotic fruits, with an insatiable hunger unlike the kind they had known before. The seeds of the fruits had been planted, not in their stomachs but in their souls.
As time passed, the once-thriving town began to unravel. Economic collapse struck first, as everyone pursued individual ambitions at the expense of communal well-being. Then, the local economy crumbled. Businesses faltered as competition grew ruthless, and many residents were left struggling to make ends meet. Family bonds disintegrated, replaced by materialism, and trust, which was once a strong social fabric of the small town charm, evaporated. All sense of community had vanished, and only cynicism remained to fill the void.
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As if that wasn’t enough, unexplained natural disasters struck the town with a vengeance. Crops withered, livestock perished, and earthquakes shook the ground, leaving the community in constant turmoil. The very earth was rebelling against the greed and ambition that had taken hold of the town.
Desperate to end the disasters and restore their shattered lives, the community turned on Captain Hartman, demanding he return to the Isle of Hart in search of an antidote. To his dismay, when my father reached the exact coordinates he had marked, the island had vanished as if it had never existed. The lush paradise had vanished without a trace.
The Earth’s equilibrium had come full circle. The balance between beginnings and endings had been restored in the most painful and tragic of ways, as the townspeople were left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives. As for my father, he couldn't escape the feeling that he was cursed. Now living in a new luxurious mansion, with newly acquired wealth and a new youthful wife, he had everything he had ever desired. But he had lost the sense of contentment and peace that had once defined him. The power he wielded had corrupted him, and his discomfort had paid for his transgressions.
