This is my allegory. Note that this was written directly for my book, not just for fun. This allegory actually has a ridiculous amount of relevance to my plot, so keep in mind that it's actually based on real events. There are archetypes in this allegory.
And please give me real criticism / tell me what you think the allegory is trying to say. That would help me a lot.
EDIT: I edited some details in. Read again if you wish.
Circles
A long time ago, the infamous Masked Festival was being celebrated in a town surrounded by grey stone, and many of the people had begun wearing their celebratory masks. However, the mayor and his advisors were having difficulty deciding the theme of the festival, for the theme was represented by the many different tribes and clans that attended the festival. Arguments grew tense, and time was passing quickly. Before midnight of the third day, they would need to decide.
On the first day, an advisor dressed in brown robes strolled through his luxurious home, pondering the many different choices there were, and which clan deserved it the most. He began pacing in circles within his study, when a man guised in a white mask stepped over the threshold of his door.
“I very much love this celebration, but this festival is unimportant,” the man said. “You must know that a great storm is coming. It will tear each home of this town down, slowly, one by one, one to one. Please sign an appeal in the town square, so the mayor will cancel the festival.”
The advisor smiled sadly. “I am sorry, but I don’t have time for this. I am sure others will take the initiative, but my job depends on my input. Please, visit another.”
“I see,” said the man. “I am sorry to have wasted your time.”
On the second day, the same man in the white mask sat at the stool of a bar with his mask dawned yet again. He said to the bartender in grey, “I very much love this celebration, but this festival is unimportant. You must know that a great storm is coming. It will tear each home of this town down, slowly, one by one, one to one. Please sign an appeal in the town square, so the mayor will cancel the festival.”
“I am sorry,” the bartender said, walking behind the bar in circles as he tended for his customers. “I cannot leave my position. I’ll be fired, and I must prepare the bar for the festival. I am sure you will find the aid of another.”
“I see,” the man said with a hanging head. “I am sorry to have bothered you.”
On the last day, as the sun slowly dipped passed the horizon, the man in the white mask showed up once more, before a wise, old master who sat steadily in his swordsman hall. “Surely, I don’t need to tell you what is happening. A storm is coming. It will destroy every home, slowly, one by one, one to one. Will you do nothing?”
The wise old man nodded. “I am the ony one who signed the appeal, I am afraid. I can do nothing now, but watch.”
“I see,” the man said. “Then I will apologize, for I was unable to save you.”
Before the stroke of midnight fell, a clan was decided, and its symbol was hoisted unto the face of the town clock tower. Everyone wore their masks. They enjoyed the singing voices of others. They feasted. And they danced in circles. But when the sky grew pitch black and the clock’s long hand struck twelve, a thunderous roar resounded in the distance.
Something infinite in power surged outside the grey walls, but all screams were quelled as the town was overtaken by a massive wave made black by the midnight sky. It broke through the walls and took each house slowly, one by one, one to one. All was lost.
The following morning, dawn broke over the town. Only the visited advisor was left alive, and as he crawled amongst the ruins of the town in shame, he saw the man in the white mask, standing beside the ruined walls. The advisor trembled in fear. The man pulled his white mask aside, and two eyes turning with disdain glared back.
There was no hope from the beginning.
And please give me real criticism / tell me what you think the allegory is trying to say. That would help me a lot.
EDIT: I edited some details in. Read again if you wish.
Circles
A long time ago, the infamous Masked Festival was being celebrated in a town surrounded by grey stone, and many of the people had begun wearing their celebratory masks. However, the mayor and his advisors were having difficulty deciding the theme of the festival, for the theme was represented by the many different tribes and clans that attended the festival. Arguments grew tense, and time was passing quickly. Before midnight of the third day, they would need to decide.
On the first day, an advisor dressed in brown robes strolled through his luxurious home, pondering the many different choices there were, and which clan deserved it the most. He began pacing in circles within his study, when a man guised in a white mask stepped over the threshold of his door.
“I very much love this celebration, but this festival is unimportant,” the man said. “You must know that a great storm is coming. It will tear each home of this town down, slowly, one by one, one to one. Please sign an appeal in the town square, so the mayor will cancel the festival.”
The advisor smiled sadly. “I am sorry, but I don’t have time for this. I am sure others will take the initiative, but my job depends on my input. Please, visit another.”
“I see,” said the man. “I am sorry to have wasted your time.”
On the second day, the same man in the white mask sat at the stool of a bar with his mask dawned yet again. He said to the bartender in grey, “I very much love this celebration, but this festival is unimportant. You must know that a great storm is coming. It will tear each home of this town down, slowly, one by one, one to one. Please sign an appeal in the town square, so the mayor will cancel the festival.”
“I am sorry,” the bartender said, walking behind the bar in circles as he tended for his customers. “I cannot leave my position. I’ll be fired, and I must prepare the bar for the festival. I am sure you will find the aid of another.”
“I see,” the man said with a hanging head. “I am sorry to have bothered you.”
On the last day, as the sun slowly dipped passed the horizon, the man in the white mask showed up once more, before a wise, old master who sat steadily in his swordsman hall. “Surely, I don’t need to tell you what is happening. A storm is coming. It will destroy every home, slowly, one by one, one to one. Will you do nothing?”
The wise old man nodded. “I am the ony one who signed the appeal, I am afraid. I can do nothing now, but watch.”
“I see,” the man said. “Then I will apologize, for I was unable to save you.”
Before the stroke of midnight fell, a clan was decided, and its symbol was hoisted unto the face of the town clock tower. Everyone wore their masks. They enjoyed the singing voices of others. They feasted. And they danced in circles. But when the sky grew pitch black and the clock’s long hand struck twelve, a thunderous roar resounded in the distance.
Something infinite in power surged outside the grey walls, but all screams were quelled as the town was overtaken by a massive wave made black by the midnight sky. It broke through the walls and took each house slowly, one by one, one to one. All was lost.
The following morning, dawn broke over the town. Only the visited advisor was left alive, and as he crawled amongst the ruins of the town in shame, he saw the man in the white mask, standing beside the ruined walls. The advisor trembled in fear. The man pulled his white mask aside, and two eyes turning with disdain glared back.
There was no hope from the beginning.
Last edited by Den on Fri Jan 15, 2010 12:01 am; edited 3 times in total