One Piece (Part 2 of [TBD])
On the other side of Onething, there was a man named Orin.
Orin was really good at his one thing. He worked in the Tower of Numbers, and the numbers always added up when Orin touched them. The Kings liked Orin. The other number-people liked Orin, too! He was quiet and helpful, and he never ever ever made a fuss.
See, Orin had one problem.
He kept looking out the window.
He noticed that when his numbers got wobbly, the Baker's bread got flat.
He noticed that when the Miller's hands got puffy, the Builder's stones began to crack.
He noticed that the wobbles and the bobbles made a noise.
The puffy and the poofy things were cracking all the toys!
So Orin walked down from his Tower and knocked on the Baker's door.
"Excuse me," said Orin. "I think I know why your bread is flat."
The Baker squinted. "You're the Number-man."
"Yes, but I think the heat is—"
"Numbers don't bake bread," said the Baker, kindly. "Thank you, though. You're very good at your one thing, Orin. Stick to that!"
And he closed the door.
Orin walked to the Mill and knocked.
"Excuse me," said Orin. "I think I know why your hands are puffy."
The Miller looked at his hands, then at Orin. "Orin, don’t you count things in a Tower?"
"Yes, but the pressure is what—"
"Pressure is for Builders," said the Miller, kindly. "You should spend your time elsewhere! You're very good at your one thing, Orin. Stick to that!"
And he went back to grinding away.
Orin walked to the Builder's yard and found him staring at a crack in the wall.
"I think I know why," said Orin.
The Builder didn't even turn around. "Oh… you're the one who's good with numbers, aren’t you?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then go count something. Numbers don’t explain everything, Orin." The Builder's voice was tired, not mean. "We're all just trying to do our jobs, friend. You should stick to that, indeed."
Orin stood there for a moment, with the air still so sticky.
He thought about explaining. He thought about a drawing. He thought about a-shouting, and a-showing, and a-throwing!
But he looked at the Baker in the window
And the Miller at his wheel.
The Builder with his back turned.
And then his thoughts began to feel.
They didn’t bully Orin.
They just didn’t have the ears.
Their ears were shaped to hear one thing.
His words could not come near.
So Orin held his chin up.
He nodded to the moon.
"Alright," he said.
He turned around, as dark approaches soon.
At the edge of the square, he stopped.
He hoped they would call him back.
The Baker was kneading! The Miller was grinding! The Builder was fixing the crack!
All of them doing their one thing.
All of them humming a tune.
Their songs sounded amazing to Orin!
He was just sad they couldn’t hear, too.
See, Onething had one problem.
They couldn’t handle a season of less.
A magical game of connect-the-dots—
with no pencil to venture a guess.
So Orin walked home to his cottage.
He didn't slam the door. He didn't curse the Kingdom. He didn't climb a hill to watch the glass break. He just made some tea, sat by the window, and watched the towers sparkle in the strange, heavy light.
Even if Onething couldn't hear the song, he could.
Orin's real one thing was to see many things. But Onething never made a spot for that last piece.
Why certainly, it would cost too much to connect all those dots!
"Dang, maybe next time!" said Orin, counting the crooked carrots that no one would help him grow right.
"No matter!" as he baked his crackers that were meant to be bread. "I'll count my numbers for them anyway. I’ll write down all of my tries! Maybe somebody else will hear the song, and it can hopefully help with the cries!"
What they did with their story was theirs.
Because singing kept Orin alive.