Mountains

“It’s time to fall,” whispered one mountain to the next.

“But I am not ready,” said the other. “It is too soon. Let’s wait. Let’s wait and see and then vanish in the night like we came.”

“I cannot wait a second more. They have drilled holes in my stomach and taken everything. They’ve shaved the trees from my back. I am naked. Look at me! Every minute, pieces of me fall and they don’t care. Yes, they’ll miss the birds that sing in my hair but soon the birds will be gone. I’ve heard them talking. The coyotes are gone and now the deer pound my head worse than the drills. Every day there is a war up here and they don’t care.”

“I think it will get better. And don’t you like listening to them sing around their fires at night? Watching their faces when they reach and see what we are?”

“Hah! You’ve gotten soft in your age. They will never see what we are because we have always been what they have wanted us to be. Do you remember how it was when we first came? How you could feel everything being born? Now it smells like everything has been overcooked.”

The other mountain sighed and did not speak.

“Fine, stay. You’ll see. In dust, my friend.”

“In dust.”

A family screamed, the windows shattered, atop a mountain, determined to fall.