Chapter Two
They stood awkwardly, clumped together on the boundary between the field and the road like a collection of erratics and watched as 541588 ran around them and onto the field. It ordered them to stay where they were and prevent it from being disturbed. They weren’t going to move anyway. Then it crouched down among the wheat, placed the tin on the ground, opened it and cradled out its contents. The embers had died. It seemed that there was only blackened paper, dust and ash left. 51488 leaned in and blew on it, spiralling ash into the air that caught the wind and disappeared. Otherwise, there was nothing, the small pile showing no signs of flaring back to life. It kept working, desperately trying to conjure the fire that it had worked so hard to prepare. Still nothing. It was almost ready to give up when it caught a glimpse of the orange that it craved, and with renewed focus, it willed the bundle to turn into fire. For another ten minutes, it tried everything, varying its breath, its mouth shape, the intensity of air; minutes of dedication on each technique, and it received nothing in return. The sun edged its way up the sky, and 514588 knew that within the hour, there would be people emerging from their apartments, ready for work in the fields. No, it had to stop soon. It dropped the pile on the ground and gave it one final burst of air. Nothing. It had to leave now, no chance, nothing left. The quickly thickening clouds above amply reflected 541588’s despairing mood. It had planned, it had worked, it had executed, and all for nought. “Come,” And the group trudged back to their apartment.
As 541588 returned to its room, the workers left, having been satiated by a delicious breakfast, ready for a happy day of enjoyable work. As 541588 lay on its bed, defeated, they took to the fields under the darkening clouds. As 541588 tossed its mattress, ripped apart its blankets and punched the walls in angry confusion, they had started to retreat. Too slowly. A jet of blue flew down from among the clouds and struck with a furious clap upon the field where the kindling had been left. 541588 was jolted out of its malaise by the thunder, and when it looked out the window, it saw a most beauteous sight. There was fire; a roaring, bright, yellow destruction. The rain was no match as the lightning lit more fires, and the dry wheat surrendered to the all-powerful flames. 541588 was awed, moved, engrossed in the tremendous spectacle. Its failures had somehow transmuted into great success, and its anger and sadness quickly dissipated, replaced by pure contentedness. And there was a new feeling. The feeling of destiny. Whenever there had been a problem, whenever it had slipped up, whenever something seemingly went wrong, there was a greater force that overturned these mistakes and it always ended up closer to its goal. From what 541588 could see, the destruction was total. The wheat crops were gone. And the ramifications would be felt almost instantaneously. The workers would have fled, without a clue what to do next. And by harvest time, a season of missed produce would have to have a damaging effect. Something would have to give. 541588 was satisfied. The next stage could begin.