One Piece (Part 3 of [TBD])

Just a few days later, and the squeeze just kept squeezing!
The big ball got smaller, and the songs turned to wheezing!

The Baker woke up before the Sun made a peep.
He woke up so early, he still heard kids counting sheep!

Earlier and earlier because his bread was still flat.
He was sure that the Miller just did not have his back.

"That lazy Miller," he muttered, kneading a tad bit harder. "He used to care about quality. Now look at this flour!"

The Baker didn't tell anyone that his bread was still flat. He just worked longer hours, and hoped no one would notice. He smiled at customers and said, "Fresh batch coming soon!" even when the batch was already done. He didn’t want his customers to think he was as lazy as that no-good Miller!

Because if he admitted the bread was wrong, then people might think he was wrong.
And the Baker had been baking for forty years! Forty years of perfect loaves! One bad season couldn't erase all that... could it?!

The Miller heard the grumbly mumblings of the Baker.

"The flour's been off lately," the Baker told the Butcher.
"Coarser than it used to be," the Baker told the Tailor.

The Butcher told the Banker that the Miller’s getting old.
The Tailor told the Preacher that the bread was hard and cold!

The Miller's hands were so puffy now, he could barely grip the wheel. The handle creaked with every turn.
Sure, the wheat did come back a little rougher than before, but what could he do? He couldn't just stop.

"I'll be more careful," he told himself, wrapping his swollen fingers in cloth.

He couldn't tell anyone his hands hurt. Because then people might think he was slowing down.
And the Miller had been grinding for forty years! Forty years of perfect flour! One bad season couldn't erase all that... could it?!

So he soldiered on. And wondered why the Baker stopped saying hello even though he was trying his best.

The Builder saw cracks everywhere in Onething.

In the morning, he patched the east wall.
By lunch, the west wall split!
He fixed the fountain during sunset.
And then the tower steps would shift!

He worked faster now. Quiet and quick.
Patch, smooth, paint.
Patch, smooth, paint.
Patch, smooth, paint.
If he moved fast enough, maybe no one would see.

He couldn't tell the Kings about the cracks. Because then people might think he built them wrong.
And the Builder had been stacking stones for forty years! Forty years of perfect towers! One bad season couldn't erase all that... could it?!

So he patched in silence. And prayed the cracks would stop.

The Kings looked down from their towers and frowned.

The Baker was working longer.
The Miller was moving slower.
The Builder was running everywhere with buckets of paste.

"Onething is getting sloppy," said the First King.
"We need more rules," said the Second King.
"More inspections," said the Third King. "Tighter schedules. Clearer roles. Everyone must do their one thing better!"

They couldn't admit that Onething was struggling. Because then the other Kings might see their sloppy towers.
And the Kings had been ruling for forty years! Forty years of perfect order! One bad season couldn't erase all that... could it?!

So they made more rules. And watched each other's towers closely for signs of weakness.

While Onething was smoothing over itself, Orin sat by his window with his tea.

He had stopped knocking on doors. Now he just watched.

He saw strange ribbons in the sky, sparkling at the edge of the bubble. The ribbons fired itty-bitty pebbles at the glass towers.
They were so small and so quiet that no one else noticed.

Tink. Tink. Tink.

He saw the sun trying oh so hard to shine. It huffed and puffed and flared and blowed! But its warmth couldn't quite reach Onething anymore. Something was drinking the light before it arrived.

He saw the bubble that everyone thought was the whole world. It used to be smooth and round, but now it looked like cheese with holes everywhere.
Gaps where the dark goop could peek through.

The squeeze hadn't stopped, and Orin’s numbers knew it was never going to stop. The bigger ball would keep pressing on the smaller ball until... until...

Well. It just keeps going.

He just knew that nobody in Onething could hear him explain.

Because Orin knew that it wasn't anybody's fault.

Not the Baker's. Not the Miller's. Not the numbers. Not the things.
Not the Tailor’s. Not the Banker’s. Not the Butcher’s. Not the King’s!

They were all doing their one thing perfectly. The machine was running exactly as designed!

It's just that the machine was built for a world that wasn't squeezing.

And now the world was squeezing.

And admitting that meant admitting something terrible: their one thing was never the whole thing.

If they heard Orin say "It's not your fault because the bigger ball is pressing," they would have to believe in a bigger ball. They would have to believe their bubble wasn't the whole world. They would have to start over, learn new things, and become beginners again.

After forty years!

So they chose not to hear.

They chose to believe they were failing rather than believe their whole picture was incomplete.

Because failing meant working harder. And working harder was something they knew how to do.

But incomplete? Incomplete meant everything had to change.

So the Baker kneaded.
The Miller ground.
The Builder patched.
The Kingdom frowned.

So Orin drank his tea, watching the pebbles fall through the cheese-holes in the sky.

Tink. Tink. Tink.

Then he wrote his numbers down.