A Rolling Stone
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
- Bob Dylan, Like a Rolling Stone
The year was 1945, and a rock sat still, along a Berlin sidewalk. It had been there for ages, unnoticed, and had traveled a journey throughout the ages, throughout the millenia, until it came upon one more resting spot in a never ending journey through time. It was simple, battered, and unattractive. It's sides were coarse and battered, and its color was a nuetral gray, obscuring it from attention. As the rock sat still, the city around it coalesced in a sea of fire, a sea of death and destruction. Women and children wept freely as their husbands and fathers died, struggling against the tide of death. And deep underground, in the darkest depths of Berlin, in the darkest mind yet imagined, a conflicted and defeated man brought a gun to his head, selfishly removing himself from his problems. Yet the rock sat still, and the children of germany continued onwards, against invading armies, against a tide of doom.
Through all of this chaos, a child picked up the rock, and ran frantically behind the corner of a tall, ruined building. Its walls were brittle with holes and craters, and stained with the blood of innocents and villians alike. Its roof was gone, and its foundation crumbling, yet it still offered meagre shelter as death came ever closer. And then, as the boy sat behind this corner, weeping and struggling with himself, the sound of death on the march echoed clearly throughout the passing street. It was an harsh noise, and to all Germans who heard this coarse, eastern speak, a sense of fear soon came. It was Russian. Voices and marching footsteps came closer and closer to the corner of the crumbling building, along the wide Berlin avenue, and the rock felt the boy's hands place a grip of unremmitting fear and determination upon it. Out he ran, into the wide avenue, into the path of these ghastly conquerers. The rock felt itself lifted into the air by the boy's small arms, and heard his voice yell out, fiercly, "Deutschland uber alles!"
Germany over all, but just as soon as this was cried out, the sound of gunfire defeaned such a fierce proclamation, and once again, the rock fell back onto the floor, and death continued its march, ever closer towards the center of the city, the center of Germany, without even noticing the fallen boy and the fallen rock. Even the rock, on the unnoticed ground, could not escape death's grip. Tremors chipped at its structure. Yet death, in all its strength and horror, could not destroy such rock, such foundation. So quietly it sat, on the same floor as it had sat upon for centuries.
And for a period, there was no death. For us it was a period of years, almost a full decade, yet for the rock it was but a second, a bright flash of light in the endless darkness of time. At first, no one expected the reccurance of death, yet death slowly crept up upon the home of the rock. Slowly, people grew more agitated, more worried. Slowly, few begin to leave the place of the rock, and yet most stayed, waiting out such warning signs. Yet, upon one cool october day, the piercing sounds of sirens not heard since death's first occurance began their loud screeches into the air. And for a second people ran, frantically, all around the rock, kicking it and battering it, adding to the pain it had indured over the centuries. Yet this pain was nothing compared to what was to come. Instantly, a bright, burning flash overcame the rock, and fires swept it up, into a fireball as hot as the sun. The pain from this almost destroyed the rock, and even melted at its skin, yet as soon as the flash began it ended, and yet again, the rock sat, firmly on the ground where it had sat upon for centuries.
Death had made its resurgance, brighter than ever. And this death was just as foriegn, as eastern, and as coarse as it's last coming, yet it was infinately more destructful, infinately more evil. And still, it was the same death it was a decade ago. This time however, the damage was infinately more lasting. The building which the rock had sat near for years was gone, in its place ash and rubble. The air in which the rock had breathed in for centuries was gone, in its place suffocating heat and suffocating gasses. The ground in which it had sat upon was gone, and in its place a blackened, ghastly earth. Death had made its immortal mark, and such death would forever scar the earth upon which the rock rested. Yet still, the rock sat, firmly on the ground where it had sat upon for centuries, undisturbed by death's second coming.
And for awhile, for two decades, or in the rock's perspective, for a mere two seconds, the rock sat there, in isolation, in desolation, and in destitution. The area around it had turned grey with age, and finally black with abuse. Yet amidst this blackness, there stood only a small, ugly shred of color - red flags, placed everywhere. People who walked those areas rushed hurredly under such abominations, perhaps stoping to spit upon them. For these flag's were death's legacy, imposed upon the people who had felt death's wrath.
Yet, the rock sensed change. Soon such colors were taken down, and soon people walked by with an upbeat verve, a sense of hapiness. And soon, the streets were rid of their filth, and death's legacy was partly removed. Yet it was not completely removed, but again, the rock sat firmly on the ground where it had sat upon for centuries, undisturbed by all of these events. All of these interruptions in the near perfect flow of time. And for a while it sat, for a short, boring and uneventful while, until the final change happened upon the ground on which the rock sat, and the people which shared the ground with the everpresent rock.
Death's legacy was wholly removed. And the last visages of its tyranny removed, cast back into the dark east from whence it came. And yet again, a fair, beautiful child picked up the rock once more, and walked infront a marching crowd, lifted the rock into the air, and cried fiercly, "Deutschland Uber Alles!"
Germany over all. Yet this time the crowd did not fire, instead, and it did not deafen such a fierce proclamation, instead it joined in such cheering, lifting the child into the air whom dropped the rock. And still it sat, firmly on the ground where it had sat upon for centuries. And so time continued its perfect course through space, with the rock rolling firmly upon its trail.
Fin.
OOC: Thanks to Josef for the idea of the everpresent rock. 
erhaps youd like to join the Euro 
