White sands, like an endless field of tiny diamonds, sparkled in the early morning sun. Waves rushed in, with a gentle roar then hissed and, almost magically, vanished into the glistening white shore. Not far from the water’s edge, the jungle rose dark and dense, sunlight unable to penetrate the thick leaves and vines. Look closely and you might spot the path; an opening into the hidden depths of the tropical forest.
No man had trod this island, yet a civilization of sorts thrived. Bananas grew on trees tall and slender; huge clusters bending the trees to the ground, allowing the inhabitants to easily pick them. Coconuts ripened and fell, often causing injury—even death—to careless—usually the young—members of the peaceful tribe. The elders knew not to walk beneath the swaying coconut palms when the fruit was ripe.
On this morning, a small brown dot rode in on a wave; bobbing, vanishing, then reappearing. At times the brown dot was replaced with red and white stripes. Occasionally a flash of bright yellow blinked like a caution light then… with a final whoosh of wave, the object washed to shore. Sunlight glared off its round flat hands of brass. The object appeared to be made in the image of the island’s inhabitants; a symbolic thing they would speak of for years to come… when this dark day was finally over.
They came, marching, slowly in single file—lockstep—until they were as near they dared be to the unmoving object. A dozen monkeys—perhaps thirteen—formed a semi-circle around the tiny toy figure. One, a banana in its hand, approached shyly, almost reverently. When it was within a few feet—its courage drained— it tossed the banana toward the tiny figure then scampered back to its place in the half circle, where it crouched, trembling.
The monkeys began to hoot and howl then, their voices to them a mystical music they hoped would drive the strange object away. Moving as one, closer and closer to the still and silent thing the gods had sent to them, they sang louder and louder, until the roar and hiss of the waves was hushed beneath their shouts. When they were within a few feet of it, their nervous noise now a roaring cacophony, the object stirred ever so slightly. Howls of anger turned to shrieks of abject fear, as the tribe fled back into the dark safety of the dense jungle.
On the beach, the tiny monkey, clad in red and white striped pants and a yellow vest with bright red buttons, made a whirring sound then rose slowly to a sitting position. Its arms were spread wide, and its black eyes glared without seeing toward its living likenesses cowering in the jungle.
Suddenly it brought its two brass hands together and, above the hiss of a spent wave, a sound echoed across the sand, scattering the frightened monkeys. They ran, tumbling one over the other, shrieking in abject terror, as the sound—a sound that would make nightmares of their dreams, and ever more cause them to skitter sideways at the least unexpected noise—chased them.
TINK!
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Marbles In My Pocket ~ The Official Blog of Charles L. Mashburn ~ Poems, Short Stories, and random thoughts from the author of "Be Still... and know that I am God" 
brian miller said
ha. your monkey has freaky eyes….
and i can see them scrambling away from that TINK
smiles.
saw your name somewhere today and thought
i would drop in since i havent seen you
in some time.
hope all is well.
charlesmashburn said
Everything is great, Brian. Been in the new house a year now, and it is simply awesome. I’ve been on a bit of a writing hiatus, but you know that will end when it’s time. Thanks for stopping by!