Obsidian

Kate Wallace

The heat, so intense it did not burn, but boiled, dissolved. It changed things, made them into something new, combined them. So far below, among the boiling heat, a new existence began. Change is the basis of life, and this was no different. If there was no change, there would be nothing. Not darkness, but black – a void of nothingness, of non-existence.

So it cracked and broke and melted into something new.

Change is paramount to life.

Then came the pressure, the irresistible force pushing it upwards, into the world above. Somewhere cold and foreign, yet strangely familiar. Somewhere it had been before, but couldn't quite place.

Change is needed; change is essential.

It exploded up, flying through the sky – is sky the right word? – changing once more into something new. Something solid and smooth and black and beautiful, shining in the bright light of the sun.

Do not fight change, for it will consume you.

The people saw its beauty, and picked it up, filing and grinding and polishing away until it shone even more, glassy and small and perfect in its spherical shape.

Change is a fact of life.