I looked out at the path I was about to take. It was a simple path that I had taken many times before. I was hungry, when I looked out at it. I was hungry every time I set out on this path. Though, it could hardly be called a path. There was no clearing. There was just the way we went and the goal we set for ourselves when we went. That goal was to go out, kill something that can be eaten, and bring it back to the rest.
That's usually a goal relatively easily achieved. But, this time was different. This was the rainy season. The rainy season never let anything be easy. I remember that the start of this hunt was at a time when the sun was supposed to be at its highest point in the sky. The rainy season had turned the sky dark, even throughout the day when the only sunlight we saw where the clouds seemed a little less dark than the rest. I saw flashes of light in the distance where the sky had attacked all who might intrude upon its domain. I heard the sky growl and roar in triumph over its victims and in warning to us. But, we didn't have a choice. We were either to hunt or to die. If the sky were to get angry at us, it would not kill all of us, and our families could still survive.
The hunting party went out, despite the sky's warnings, as we did every time the rainy season was upon us. We went with heavy hearts, low expectations, and the knowledge that, no matter how angry the sky gets, we either come back with something, or don't come back at all. Survival for all, or banishment for us. That was the rule, and that was how we lived.
This was a long day with little light. The Earth was soaked with water and we sunk in to the earth where it was soft. Every step was a struggle as we pushed our legs through the mud that had taken us up to our knees. The few times that we were able to lift our legs out of the mud, the wet Earth stayed with us as it struggled hard to keep us down and away from the sky's anger. The Earth loved us and wanted us to be safe, but we couldn't stay out of risk. The life of our tribe was almost at stake.
Prey was scarce. Even if we did see something, we couldn't always know that it was something to eat. We would throw rocks and pointed sticks. We had a number of these birds by the time we set out for the tribe. What we had killed was enough to return and survive another day, but certainly not enough to return with pride. These were the times when we all hated the sky. It could be very loving and warm, but at these times it was spiteful and cruel without reason. We all hated the sky at these times, but there was only one who would voice his opinion.
He stopped for a moment to rest and we all walked passed him. We weren't much farther then five or six steps in front of him when he looked to the sky. I looked back to him for just a moment as he opened his mouth to roar in anger at the sky. This alone would have been enough to shock us all. The sky was powerful enough to be a force that one did not provoke. But, at that exact moment, the sky itself roared back at the one who dared to roar at it. The rest of us ran for cover as the sky struck down a bolt of its own pure hatred. We were all as scared as we have ever been...All, that is, except for the one who roared. He stood in the same place, looking up at the sky. He wasn't scared or even angry, now. He was laughing. He laughed at the sky and spoke, in our crude language, the words, "Sky missed." And, he was right. The sky had sent one of its most powerful weapons to take down one being beneath it and missed. Instead of hitting the one who roared, it hit a tree. Branches flew off and were on fire, despite the rain and mud. Then, the one who roared, took up two flaming branches by now muddied ends and started back home to take back something he could bring to the tribe with pride.
When we went home to our cave, all ran when they saw red heat/pain attached to a stick being carried by the one who roared. He strode with a proud smile on his face as he walked about the cave collecting twigs, leaves, and bark, the known foods of the red heat/pain. He placed all the fire's food into a pile and placed the fire upon it so that it would feed. Then, he spoke to the tribe in our crude tongue. The words were not impressive. The general message came out to the tune of "I have tamed the child of the sky."
Slowly, but surely, others from our tribe overcame their fear and came out of hiding. Not quite as many came up closer and shook in fear of the red heat/pain suddenly striking out at any one of them. Very few of them came up to the spirit to put their hands up to it and feel its force and strength. Those that did gasped when it did not strike them dead instantly. They looked back and told the others that it was true. The one who roared had tamed the red heat/pain that was born by the sky. In time others came and tested this for themselves.
They all came to congratulate him personally. He was something of a hero. He had tamed the red heat/pain that was born by the sky's own pure hatred. He told the story of how the he made the sky so angry as to attack him so savagely. He also told of how the sky, despite all the hatred, ferocity, and power, missed him for a tree. Then, he told of how the sky's child did not attack him, but was so disappointed by its mother as to take sides with the only one who would roar at the sky.
We didn't know much about fire. We couldn't call it the red heat/pain any more. It didn't just cause pain any more. It allowed us to live through the rainy season with better ease than we had ever known before. We could sleep next to it to sleep through the colder nights. When it blazed high, the animals from around us among the trees would stay away. For some reason, we had less deaths among the children during that rainy season. We ate, slept, or just sat and told stories of the tribal lore next to it. Whatever it was, it gave us more than we were ever able to give it in return.
It went on like that for a long time. The rainy season had passed. A warm season had come and gone. Then, it happened. I saw a man who tried to give something to the fire. The hunt had been good that day, and he decided it was time to give something more to the fire. So, he took a sharpened stick and placed a piece of meat upon it. With slightly shaking fingers, he pointed the meat to the fire. He held the meat in the fire by the stick. He was suprised to see that the fire hadn't consumed the meat greedily. Instead, the red life gently caressed the meat for a few minutes before he took it back.
After a while, he took back the meat. It had been changed by the fire. It had turned brown and dryer. He smelled the changed meat. I can only assume that he had the thought of, "If the fire doesn't want it..." He bit into the meat and a thoughtful look came across his face. Then, he motioned to another. I saw him give the changed meet to his friend, who then bit into it. His friend motioned to another who took more meet, put it on another stick, and repeated the actions of the first. After time, it was the way we all ate meat. The fire had, again, given us more and asked for nothing in return.
Finally, there came a time when we decided to give something to the fire. It had given us so much that it only seemed right that we give something back of equal value. We wondered long and hard about what to give it. Then, it was decided that we should give it what it gave us. It gave us life. So we would give a life to the fire.
I don't know how it was decided what life would be given to the fire, but I remember a strong pain. Then, I woke up with sharpened sticks had been stuck through my hands and legs into two pieces of bark fastened together one perpendicular to the other. I faced a fire that had been fed much to bring it up to a strength that could easily consume me. I struggled as fiercely as I could. There was an extreme pain as my arms broke free of the bark. I looked to see my own blood and a strings of my flesh on a broken piece of the stick that had kept me there. That was my last vision in that life as I was then pushed into the flame.
That death, I died slowly. The fire did not take me immediately. I only knew a small amount of the pain in the first small moments, but it was still enough to cause me to scream and cry out for my life. Only the bark, the sticks, my hair, and a pelt that I had at the time were burning. After the cry I inhaled and the pain invaded me from the inside out. I felt all of the power of the red heat/pain as it always was. Then, there was nothing more to breath. Then, all was black.
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