Pit

Right in the middle of a vast expanse was a pit. 3 meters in diameter and deep as one and a half Alexander the great. Near and along the circumference grew thorny bushes and cactus but none within it. Sand slopped from the edges and merged at the center where a brass lock lied attached to a pair of steel rings. Everything beneath it was covered by sand. Beyond the confines of the pit the arid land stretched till the horizon got blurry and the eyes seeing that horizon lost hope to even shed a single tear of grief. Many lonesome travelers had traversed near it but either due to exhaustion or just general unawareness never seemed to take notice of the pit. Then again, the pit itself had the mythical ability to go unnoticed. Never an animal ever dared to slither into it. No birds flew over it or poked its pecker from morbid curiosity. For all intents and purposes, it was either holy or unholy but these words had not been conceived yet so it was neither. That is, until one day one of god's most despicable creation stepped off a camel's back and surveyed it with a conscious mind for the very first time.

Thus, began the conquest to open the lock at the bottom of the pit.

The first attempts were undertaken by, who came to be known as, the classical lords. They were the first to tread this unknown behemoth. When the prince first saw the pit he rode to his village with haste to inform his father of the fantastical discovery. Upon hearing the news, the first wave departed with the king. Now, almost millions of years since its inception, a caravan of men stood along the edges of the pit, gazing directly at the lock resting in the center. They unmounted and cleared the thorny bush, slashing through it like barbarians, because they were, in fact, barbarians. The coast cleared and for the first time in history life stepped beyond the bounds of its edges. The barbarians' foot sunk into the sand in unison as the king peered from above. No sooner had their foot touched the ground than a vile storm erupted. A towering tornado grew above the pit but the men marched on. Then, abruptly, the storm receded. With each step humanity seemed to be winning yet another war against nature. Just as the men were about to reach the center a hail of black coal crashed upon them. Their able bodies turned to jelly. Each pellet lodged itself into them like arrows falling from the sky. They desperately clawed towards the edge to no avail. The bloodied mess was slowly engulfed into the sand along with the dark pellets that rained from above. It again returned to its pristine condition, seemingly unsullied.

From there onwards, another few expeditions were lead by bravehearts and determined souls to tear apart that lock. One such extraordinary mission overtaken by the first king's grandson was etched in history because that was the last of the classical expeditions.

Following the failures of his grandfather, father and every other ruler in between the king decided to make one last expedition to finally open the lock. The mission was to be carried out in two waves. The first wave of warriors were to step into the pit and in the treacherous hailstorm make a cast of the keyhole and pass it down a line to the edge. Although a few lives were lost, the mission was carried out flawlessly. The king headed back to his village and paid the best locksmith to make a key identical to the cast. With that done the war was virtually won. He rode out of his village a hero, a reformer who would create history and would be celebrated for centuries to come. Upon the edge he stood with his chest wide challenging the wind itself. He handed the key to his men and they stepped into the pit, unafraid. Just as always, the hailstorm commenced but the men carried through knowing they held their salvation in their hands. Soon as the first man could reach the lock, he plunged at it and stabbed the lock with the key and gave it a great twist. Nothing happened. Overnight the lock had mystically changed and did not incorporate the key that was forged. The king headed back devastated knowing he will never be able to gain back the trust of his subjects. Upon reaching his village he deemed the pit unholy and asked his loyal subjects never to approach it. Thus the classical chapter came to an end.

But humans are curious being, so, ages after the majesty of the classical expeditions had simmered down to mere legends, another group of humans rose up.

These were the modernists. From the tales passed down from history they knew they could not get into the pit so they tried different strategies. Although it was age of countless experiments, the very first technique was to use brute force. Arrows, boulders, axes and swords were hurled at the lock in the center of the pit. The trajectories were changed, metals were manipulated to be stronger but shattered as soon as it touched the lock. Acids, artillery, nothing seemed to work and the modernists dissipated before they could impact history whatsoever.

The post-modernist that came after them were nothing special either. It was the era of religion and knowledge and so derivative of their era they used spells and bookish knowledge in an attempt to tear it open. But still it was of no avail. The pit stood just as it did at the inception of the universe, untouched, pure, unbeatable.

It had become an object to admire. Each year the smartest and the cleverest would go there just to gaze upon its beauty. In all the vastness of the universe something mankind could never achieve.

And one day, after all the attempt to ever understand its nature was abandoned, an old man came walking by. A body battered by age. The man was weak and pale and in his hand he held a sunflower. Gazing at the lock from the edge he felt oddly attracted to it, as if it was a divine beckoning. With his trembling body he stepped into the pit.

No storm brew up that day.

He walked over to the lock and kneeled by it. Bringing forth the flower, he stuck it into the keyhole. The lock did not open. The man collapsed with a grin on his face and slowly sunk into the sand. The flower in the keyhole withered away and fell on the spot where the man had sunken. For the first time since the universe was born something lay permanently on the floor of the pit, marking the spot. From then onwards it became a pilgrimage. Souls from far reaches of the planet came to the pit, each holding a flower in hand. They kneel down to the lock, insert the flower and wither away into the sand leaving behind mere petals as their memory.

Such is the human condition. There are no answers. There is no key. But there is a lock and the best you could do is to fill that little hole with a beautiful flower of your own. It won't open it. It won't show you a way but it will fill up that little gap that humans have been trying to tear open all this while. So take up your flowers and plunge them into your locks. It's not ideal but it's the best we've got.