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    Chains and Links


      There was, many years ago, a gifted fisherman. He found himself the most lucrative abysses of the sea and dispensed his net among them. He could discern these particular niches of sealife because of his peculiarly gifted vision. The rods of his eyes - and he always fancied this nomenclature because it paralleled one of his favorite tools fon the job - were distinctly efficient at detecting values of brightness. He could tell an undersea chasm with much greater expedience than radar.

      On a day of heightened confidence, the fisherman noted a dark area fore the ship. Eager to earn his living, he steered his boat to it. Upon reaching it, the fisherman grew immediately sick at the profound cacophony that could only be that of a fiberglass hull being ripped open to an uncaring ocean's mercy, faciliated by the jagged and gnarled indifference of a rock.

      The colorblind fisherman noted that the puncture exceeded the deck of his boat. A single spurt of water popped upward. The boat maneuvered itself off of the rock over the course of five minutes. In these five minutes, only one other spurt of water emerged. The fisherman, decreasingly wise, assured himself, "If that leak don't get any quicker, I ought to be fine."

      His compass and from-birth fisherman-predilection for never taking the easy way out aided him in this harsh time as he computed how far he must be from land. An hour's time and he could be dry and well.
      Another burst of water, followed by a three-second hiss of air.
      The fisherman started the motor and began navigating his way to land. In his mind, he was already safe and sound; he'd done the math, after all. All he needed do was go north-northwest and all would be well, and he did. To his misfortune, however, the leak was in the bow of the ship, and much forward force through the water only served to push water into the hole of the deck.
      The air hissed again.
      Ready to be done with the chaos of the day, the fool fisherman increased the speed of his motor. This only forced more water to leak onto the boat. The altimeter dropped imperceptibly.

      Panicked, he procured a bottle of whiskey - the second of the day. The leak continued, now in a stream. The bottle half-emptied itself into the mouth of the fisherman.
      Twenty-five minutes pass; the fisherman is now drunk.

      He begins throwing things overboard in hopes of reducing the gravity of the boat. To him, this would reduce the pressure, and thus the speed, of the leaking water. But in his idiot state - or the extension of such - he displaced the anchor lever, and it plummeted through the water and latched onto the ocean floor within seconds.
      The boat continued cutting the sea for the duration of the anchor cable's length, and once the end was reached, the boat halted with a snap, the propeller still whirring. The drunken fisherman may or may not have seen the hole in the bow of his boat, as his head, now in the water, said goodbye to his neck, which was lodged in the remaining glass of the boat's windshield.

      The boat, now stationary, rested in place until the motor put-putted its last breath. No more spurts of water emanated from the leak. The leak had, in fact, stopped. The boat remained above water for a following twenty-three days and may well have continued to do so had it not been found by another fisherman who, at the sight of seafaring birds pecking away at a headless neck, immediately called the proper authorities.

      Such was the demise of Stan K., the Fisherman.


      A taxidermist and acclaimed hunter was exploring the native woods, rifle on his shoulder. He had a bedroom wall that spoke for his accomplishments in his field of work.
      In these woods, he came upon a clearing. About him were clusters of untamed vegetation: potatoes, turnips, carrots. Eight hours into his long day, he sat down with his back against a tree and held his rifle down by his side. He could have dozed off had it not been for the ever-faint rustling of brush across the clearing. His pupils became pinholes.
      He stared into the bushes and tall grass and out of the leaves emerged a creature of luminescent white fur and voidlike eyes and trained ears. The white rabbit, apparently much more perceptive than the hunter, immediately scurried away, and the hunter, too enamored by the prospect of conquering such a creature, hastily chased the rabbit, leaving his rifle behind him.

      The hunter procured a pocket knife and chased the rabbit through an obstacle course of briars and spider webs and snake hisses and limbs all the way to a hole in the ground into which the rabbit disappeared.

      The hunter, feeling closer than ever to catching the idealest of prey, shoved his bare, calloused hand into the rabbit hole. Responding to an immediate sharp pain, he removed his hand from the hole to find one of smaller proportion in his wrist. Within moments the current of blood had subsided, as did the dappled sunlight above him and the gravity which grounded him as he ascended into a dark vision.

      Above him was a white light which contained illuminated tree leaves and branches, bird nests, and the face of a white rabbit staring down upon him. Blood dripped from the rabbit's marred jowls and with perfect precision landed directly in the hunter's eye. The world around him grew red and the light above him grew red, then yellow, then bright white.

      The hunter then could make out branches surrounding the white light. His eyes had gotten very sensitive. He wiped the tears from his eyes and noticed that when he did so, he saw no blood on his wrist. He looked about him and saw the carrots and the potatoes and the turnips. He felt the sparse grass below him and rose from the ground.
      Walking to his truck from here, he reflected on his dream - that in trying to win the white rabbit, he ruined what made it so perfect.
      He entered his truck, a wiser man than when he'd exited it, and when he returned home, he placed his gun on its rack, never to have been touched again.

      In the third world the holy ones advised Spider Woman that she had the capabilities of weaving a map of the universe and the geometrical patterns of the spirit beings in the night sky. At first she did not know what they meant, and was not instructed how it should be done, but curiosity became her energy and driving force to weave her creations.

      On a beautiful day when she was out on the land, she came upon a small young tree, which was just beginning to grow. She touched the tree with her right hand and wrapped her fingers around one of the branches. When she released her right hand, a string was attached to the branch, and it was streaming out from the middle of her palm. She was not quite sure what it was. She shook her hand to release the string, but it stayed attached to her hand. She thought the strings might detach if she kept wrapping it on the branch of the tree. She kept wrapping the string around the small extended branch and she became worried when she realized that she would run out of space on the first small extended tree branch.

      There were so many strings on the small branch that it seemed it would break off, and then Spider Woman ran the string to another branch on the same tree. After doing this for awhile, she realized she was creating a pattern. She started maneuvering and manipulating the strings into various shapes. At this particular moment, she knew this was the weaving the holy people instructed her to do. Immediately she broke the string with her left hand without hesitation. She sat and thought carefully about how to use her new gift. For the rest of the day she sat close to the tree and wrapped the strings into various patterns on other branches of the small tree.

      When she felt comfortable with her gift, she returned home with her gathered food and showed her newly acquired skill to her husband, Spider Man. After a period of time, Spider Woman began weaving within her home.



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