The Standing Man

The Standing Man stood there along the river, day and night, night and day, where his house too once stood, but stood no more. His house had been built of the mightiest of timber, cut from the last remaining trees of wood working caliber for miles around. He had thought it to be invincible, but Mother Nature proved that to be wrong one fateful day, so short and long a time ago. A great windstorm claimed the man's house while he was away gathering food. He returned after the day's venture, to find the remains of his house and its contents scattered across the landscape. He ran about frantically gathering up everything not lost to the river. In the exact spot where his house once was, he formed a pile of broken timber and assorted remnants of his possessions. The timber couldn't be used to recreate the house, and no more useable timber could be found in this area, and so to build a new house he would have to travel elsewhere.

But the man refused to leave. He stubbornly and foolishly believed that leaving his beloved house had gotten him into this mess in the first place. He loved his home, and he wouldn't, he simply couldn't, leave it. And so, the man, refusing to leave the spot, or even turn away from the remains of his home, became the Standing Man, standing there along the river, day and night, night and day. After a time, the last of his food was consumed, and so the Standing Man starved as he stood, but still he stayed just the same.

The river was not a highly trafficked one, but time to time men would come through on their way to wherever it was they were going. And not long after the Standing Man ran out of rations, a man on a raft came along the river. The Raft Man stopped and asked the Standing Man why he was standing there. Was he wondering how to make a raft from the timber? The Standing Man, without turning from the remains of his beloved house, replied that the timber was not for raft making, it was what remained of his home. The Raft Man felt sorry for him, and asked if he could help rebuild. The Standing Man explained that the timber was no longer good for house making. The Raft Man was confused, and asked "Why if the timber cannot be used for a house, do you not wish to use it for a raft? You can raft with me down to a new place, filled with fine trees to make a new home. You can take much of your possessions with you, and always have a piece of your home in the raft you have built. I have rope, and I shall help you build your raft." The Standing Man bluntly turned him down, he did not want a raft or a new home, he wanted his old one back, and he explained that to the Raft Man. His help denied, the Raft Man was forced to move on, saying that the Standing Man was a fool.

In time, after the Standing Man had grown thin and it started to grow cold, a man in a canoe came along. The Canoe Man stopped and asked the Standing Man why he was standing there. Did he not have knowledge or means to make fire from the pile of wood there? The Standing Man, without turning from the wood pile, replied that this timber certainly was not for burning, it was what remained of his home. The Canoe Man felt bad for him, though part of him wondered how long this man had been standing there staring at that pile of wood, for it had started to rot and was crawling with insects. He thought to himself, "Am I the first person to come by, and this man felt it best simply to wait for help? But why, if I am his rescuer, does he not even turn to face me? Surely, he has gone a tad mad, but I guess it is not too unreasonable in such a situation, and regardless, he still is in need of my help." So the Canoe Man said aloud to the Standing Man "If you have been waiting for someone to come along and aid you, then you are in luck. There is room in the back of my canoe, and if you help me paddle, you can come with me along the river. I may even have some room for you to take a few of your possessions." The Standing Man stood silent for a bit, but then after the silence said to the Canoe Man that he could not leave, for so much would be left behind. The Canoe Man then also was silent, pondering what he should do. He thought about forcing the man to come with him, but worried at the danger posed to him by a man so obviously crazed. And ultimately, he decided all he could do was leave. But before doing so, he left tools for making fire, and told the Standing Man that if he insisted on staying here, he should at least burn the wood to keep warm in the cold night. "Burn the wood?" thought the Standing Man, as the Canoe Man paddled on sadly down the river. "How could he even suggest such a horrible thing as burning this wood?" It had once been his wonderful home, he wouldn't, he couldn't, burn it.

And several days later, after the Standing Man had grown sickly and the cold became unbearable, a man in a boat came along. The Boat Man stopped and asked the Standing Man why in hell's name he was standing there. Was he wondering if there was any use for that useless wood? The Boat Man could see clearly from where he was that it had rotted through. Was he praying that the wood might magically ignite and keep him warm? Was he mad? Was he simply waiting for Death? Did Death frequently visit this spot? The Standing Man weakly explained that the rotted timber, once fine, had made up his home, and he would not leave it or the possessions inside it (which now too were in poor shape). The Boat Man decided that this indeed was a man seeking Death, and he quickly decided he didn't want to be around when Death came. The Boat Man quickly left, muttering about all the crazy fools that were wandering around in this world.

And so the Standing Man stood, alone, until he could stand no more. But Mother Nature took pity on him, having taken his precious home away, and gave him one more chance for life. She made it rain so hard that the river flooded. And it washed the man, who would not, could not move, downstream. Had he swam forward with all his remaining might, he would have been carried some ways on and washed onto a large bank. And there he would have found helpful people, much food, and plenty of timber to make a new home with some good effort. But he did not swim forward with all his might, but rather swam backward with more might than he could truly give. And after struggling against the current for a short time, his body gave out, and the Standing Man was no more.

And when Death came, he lost his home all the same, with no more chance to build another. Death killed him quick. But the man had made it slow, since forward, he would not, could not, go. The more he waited, the more he tried to hold on, the more was lost, until all was gone. I tell you now, a single stagnant drop, cannot exist in the rushing river. The Swimming Man will live, the Standing Man will die.