Sold Whole

At the start, the hillside felt alive.

The snow smelled clean and sharp, the kind that wakes you up before you’re ready. The artists were everywhere, painting, building, singing, making things out of nothing. The elders sat close together and remembered everything. The young ones ran fast and believed the hill would always hold them. For a beautiful little time, it did.

Sweet hillside with cute mushroom homes

Mushroom houses dotted the grass. Smoke drifted from chimneys. Mice chased each other between doors. Birds hopped along the roofs. Everyone gathered food together and tucked it away in many small places. No one owned the hill. The hill held them.

A squirrel lived near the tallest mushroom.

He spoke often. He spoke with confidence. He said he had the best ideas. He said progress meant moving forward together. He said he wanted to help.

So the nuts began to move.

A growing pile of nuts under one watchful owner.

Not all at once. Slowly. From many hiding spots into one large pile near his door. He said this was efficient. He said this was smarter. He said trust him.

A little mouse watched the pile grow.

He asked why all the nuts needed to be in one place.

The squirrel smiled and said he cared. He said caring sometimes looked like difficult choices.

Small mouse asking the squirrel questions.

The sky grew heavy.

The mouse asked again. Why don’t you care if others go without?

The squirrel’s voice hardened. He said worry slowed things down. He said the business on the hill needed the nuts. He said everyone would benefit later.

Darkness and empty buildings.

By morning, the pile was gone.

So was he.

The mushroom houses stayed, but their windows went dark. Signs appeared. For sale. Sold. The paths emptied. Even the wind felt unsure where to go.

For a while, everyone stayed. They tried to make it work. They tried to sell their homes. No one came.

Hillside is up for sale.

Then someone packed.

Then another.

They left quietly. Together. They followed birds across the sky and found new ground. They built again. Smaller. Fairer. They hid food in many places. No one held it all.

The boy mouse cried when he left.

Then he walked on.

The old hill still waits.

Sometimes winged creatures would return, wondering why nothing grew.

The community splits up, and most move.

The End.