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The Circle and The Triangle
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The Drabble Ditch One day, a circle burst into life. Life, which the circle had never experienced before, was overwhelming. It crashed around him, in his hypothetical ear holes, Cramming him full of self-acceptance. He was dense with himself. He was fit to burst. Everything inside him was pure, imperfect circle. He would have to get used to it.
It was a big moment for the circle, for he had been drawn. A simple, elegant flick of the wrist, and now he existed. Within a second, he had been catapulted through time, whizzing through moments and memories like an acorn from a sling shot, the circle saw the fall of empires and the rise of evil. He saw the start of life and the desperation to end it. He was apprehensive for his Ultimate Start, but at least he got the heads up.
After a while, the searing pain of being turgid with life began to ease. It was a burden he was happy to carry. His drawer, the amateur creator of life, drew him a friend. The Triangle. The Triangle was beautiful, or so The Circle thought. She was stronger, more prominent. Three lines, all poker straight and defiant. WE EXIST. WE HAVE CREATED A FORM. The Circle felt inferior with his fragile outsides wobbling and uncertain. I do exist. I just don’t know why. Or for how long.
The Circle gawped at the glorious triangle, and watched her slowly come to terms with existence. She was alive, and they had one thing in common: They were a part of something, and they had to fit in with whatever it was that they had to. But The Circle started to worry, for The Triangle was too scared to open her eyes. The drawer frowned at The Triangle and stabbed at her with the end of a pencil. The Circle let out a cry of despair as he watched the beautiful creature dissolve into nothing: She had been erased.
Enraged, The Circle decided to defy the drawer, and break his boundaries. He roared with determination as he launched himself towards the forbidden. He watched the drawer’s face spin as he rolled himself towards the edge of the page...
... Beyond the edges of the page was nothing. Nowhere for the poor little circle to exist. He was confined to the white flat land of a million possibilities, but the drawer was bored. She would shut the sketch book eventually. She’d forget about The Circle, and then his existence would be even more painful.
‘Well this was nice!’ Said The Circle to himself, before swallowing his pride. And then swallowing himself.
