this is a tale written by Ken Sigafoos, and originally shown in Poweredge magazine a few years ago.


Two brothers sat on a grassy hill in the middle of nowhere, not really doing much of anything. The toes of their bare feet kneaded the grass. The sun was bright and warm on a "blue sky" summer day. Birds chirped, a dog barked in the distance, and every no and again a pleasant breeze would blow, making them smile. The blue-eyed ones looked out over the flower spotted spread of green. A happiness was in them.

"Cloudtime." the older one said and they both laid back in the grass and focused their imaginations on the huge, white clouds overhead. They stared for a long time.

"Tell me a story", the young one said to his brother,"one I can believe in."

"A story?", the older one asked.

"Yes, a story, your story", said the young one.

"Alright, ummmm", the older one closed his eyes and thought for a minute, tapping his index fingers on his lips. "O.K." he said finally. "This is my story now." "There once was a boy, his name was 'me'. When he was young there was so much to know and so much to learn and understand. He picked to know and do the things that appealed to his imagination and to his heart. He learned of these things and did them the way he wanted when the moods struck him. He never mastered them, though, never completely. He didn't want to. That would bring the end of them far sooner then he wanted. He drew pictures and wrote words and sang and ran and jumped and played and laughed and cried and somewhere between then and now, he would ride a skateboard to glide a bit or to roll fast. (But not very fast.) Just fast enough to bring that 'feeling'. A feeling, which at times, was 'life' itself.

Time went on and he aged and gained a little more knowledge of some things that he never really noticed while he was doing all the running and jumping things of his youth. Knowing these other things existed made him want to be himself, which to his surprise was actually very hard. He wanted to make himself happy and live in accordance to the prompting which came from his true self. This was not easy and at times he lost direction. People who saw him would wonder about his sanity and his logic or simply just dismiss him as an idiot (most dismissed him as an idiot).

Years came and went as still more time passed and he was yet even older but still a young boy. He looked younger than his age, but he was older than his years. He know knew that he wanted to live forever. He wanted to be alive and never die. He wasn't an idiot, he wasn't a genius either, he was just a boy and sometimes he was happy with himself. When he wasn't he would sitin the rain and catch the raindrops in his mouth. The end."

"What?!" the young one said, sounding kind of jipped.

"I said 'the end', that's the end."

"How come?"

"Because that's as far as I've lived, o.k.?"

"I'm suppose to believe in that?" the younger one skeptically.

"Look", the older one started. "If you take some time and figure it out for yourself, there's a lot of truth in there, alright."

They were quit for a while as they looked into the sky, imagining shapes and things.

"That story sucked," the younger one said.

"Maybe, maybe not," said the older one. "You asked me to tell you a story and I did. What did you expect? A big story on skateboarding, complete with a list of my favorite this and that.?"

"No, I guess not," the younger one agreed. "I guess it was okay, after all."

They laid there dozing off in the grass, time was forgotten and every now and again the pleasant breeze would blow making them smile.

the end