Otum
Otum started out like any youngling: he started off small. Named after the season he was born into, Otum was always a lively one. Even if he only had 3 houses on a dirt road, it was always full of life; the three families gathering together in the afternoon for a barbecue, the kids laughing as they played tag, the loud voices of the adults as they chatted. Otum loved it.
More people started to move in as the years went on. The cousin of that manâs wife set up a bakery when he arrived, adding a new scent that Otum absolutely adored. A grocery store was set up next when a set of twins came into town. This seemed to boost the townâs growth, and soon more people piled into Otum.
Each day, there would be a new building or a new family that came into town. Well, what once was a town. Three houses turned into three hundred. That dirt road that Otum started out with became a paved road, as cars were introduced.Â
Otum didnât really like the cars. They made too much noise and emitted a black smoke that didnât smell good. It overpowered the smell of baking bread that Otum had come to love. But Otum decided to tolerate them, as he loved to hear the children scream and laugh when those loud, metal boxes brought their parents home. Or when the big one rolled around the corner, playing nice music and handing out cold treats.
By now, Otum was five times his original size. He had more roads, more buildings, and more people. Oh, how he loved the people. During the day, they were running all over him: the kids in school, the parents rushing to work, and the occasional rebellious teenager parked in an abandoned lot.
These teenagers were annoying when they spray painted the walls or threw trash around. But Otum couldnât get mad at them though. Heâd seen enough of them that he knew where they would end up: death or prosperity.
And besides, he didnât really like the big buildings that the people built. They were large and grey and greasy and full of sorrow. These buildings spewed out thick, black smoke like an endless volcano. In the beginning, Otum didnât mind, as it brought in more people, and people were always fun! But eventually, the smoke blocked out Otumâs view of the big, blue sky. It was terrible!
But what was happening to the people inside was worse. Otum would see them rise as soon as the sun came up. They would trudge over to the big, bad building and Otum wouldnât see them until the sun went down. The people walked out worse than when they walked in: backs bent, eyes weary, clothes dirty. It was sad to watch them. Otum didnât like it at all.
Otum turned 100. All the people decided to throw a big, big party! Lights were hung up on the big buildings, great music blasted through the streets, and good food was found on every street corner. All this was for Otumâs birthday. He loved it. All his people were laughing and dancing, and the big, bad buildings stopped working during that time.
Otum absolutely loved it when the people came together in his parks and played really loved music. Both teens and adults would jump and scream out loud in pure joy. They also set up food stalls around; they smelt so good! It brought back the memory of freshly baked bread, something Otum hardly smells anymore. For one week, Otum felt young and wild again.
They went back to their bad boring routine after that week. It was like that fun time never happened. Same old people, same old buildings. There were so many people in the city, it was becoming too much for Otum to bear. These newcomers were messy and they brought bad things. The metal boxes had grown in numbers and added to the black smoke that covered up the sky.
Otumâs streets got dirtier and dirtier. His people no longer cared to clean him up. Trash lined the gutters, cigarette butts burnt him, and Otum was choking in the polluted air.
It was too much! Too much, too much, too much! Otum had enough. He wanted to sink back down into the Earth. Down and down and down, until there was no more.Â
With a great rumble, Otum did just that. Otum cried out as he sank deeper and deeper, the water pipes bursting as he wept. He cried for the damage he was inflicting on his people. He cried for the injustices done onto him. And he cried, because his people were crying, too.
That was the end of Otum.
