Occasionally when Remo feels expansive he goes to the mountains and listens to the universe.
Occasionally when Remo feels hopeless he finds a tavern and poses as a bard.
He stands on the stage until he finds something to say, or is removed.
One night he told the following tale three times.
Nearby there exists a world like ours in almost every respect. It holds our towns, our lakes, and all of our joys and sorrows.
The only difference is that miles below the surface it has a cavern that our world does not.
The cavern has an underground stream and a stone cannon that were not crafted by any sentient being on that world.
At seemingly random intervals, the ground rumbles slightly, and the cannon ejects a creature.
These beings are like adult humans in almost every respect. The only differences are that they average three feet in height and their heads are shaped like mushrooms.
Their heads are shaded. One third of the creatures are red, one third green, and one third are purple. The mushrooms all have white circles.
Most of the time, the creatures come out with enough speed that they smash their skulls against the cavern wall, dying moments after they appear.
But seeming randomness when mixed with extreme time scales can produce strange results.
So sometimes the room fills with corpses, and one of the humanoids will have its emergence cushioned by the bodies, and instead die a prolonged death, crushed by the weight of those who have come before, unable to maneuver.
For some reason, this never happens to the red headed mushrooms.
But, the room also contains a stream. So occasionally the creatures will spawn in just such a way that their is a padding in one space, but the flowing water has cleared away the debris elsewhere.
Occasionally one survives.
Even more rarely, more than one survives at the same time.
And they will begin to make sense of their surroundings together, and tell stories about the Gods.
They will perform cleansing rituals on the carcasses of their fore-bearers before eating them, and drink the fresh water provided by the stream. They will fantasize about the day that a red topped one will come and lead them to a new home.
As she lies dyeing of malnutrition, lacking the leafy greens needed to fight off disease, one named Boh will use her finger to write the story of her people in the flowing water.
She will record their fears, their triumphs, and the games they played.
The echo’s of her movements absorbed by the water.
Without making any obvious changes, the first time Remo recounted this, the moral was: Each skull is imperceptibly expanding the room as it slams into at the cavern ceiling.
The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.
The second time: Although it may seem hopeless, notice that despite all odds Boh’s story made its way to us.
By the third time he recounted the tale, it was closer to dawn than midnight and the crowd was no longer feeling indulgent.
The coda was: Sometimes the universe just wants to take a long time to say “fuck you”