A short story developed from The Tempest
Written by Yi-Lun Chien

It hasn't rained for a really long while.
Not even a drop.

It used to be a very humid island, you won’t see them, but you could smell the water vapor all around you. Hard to breathe... especially when the scorching sun is trying to dry the land, which makes this island feel like a huge steam pot. Your skin would turn red like shrimps, as if you’ll be cooked in the next minute.

People (Spirits) living on this island don’t talk that much. They don’t know how to talk without feeling the fear of being punished. Their native languages are not allowed. Their magic books, written and documented by their ancestors, are prohibited. All either being stolen or being burned. However, they know..., they need to keep that knowledge in mind for their next generation...they don’t even know if they’ll have the next generation though.

Sometimes they’re very disappointed. They wish they won’t wake up for tomorrow. But the sun still comes out, they have to get up, and move on, step into tomorrow, and tomorrow, another tomorrow. Repeated without feeling alive.

Ariel, a spirit who has been living with this land for thousands of years, was born while the island first appeared from beneath the sea, by the earthquakes and the plates collision. Probably born from the damped dirt, which tenderly generates lifes. But no one really knows how the dirt turns alive.

Talented or intuitively, gravity seems doesn’t work for her. She walks without any effort, just like floating, and bounces to the top of the tree as if dancing. Her favorite thing would be to get into the forest, stay with the ferns, enjoy the shades offered by her life-long tree friends. Talking to them but not really, she doesn’t communicate through words with them. They communicate through tiny voices, mumble-like sounds that generate through the vibration of vocal cords? Or the vibration of their leaves.

It hasn't rained for a really long while.

All her friends are struggling to survive, their roots have drained every water they could get from the dirt. They’re at the edge of death. Feeble whispers permeate through the forest, as if they’re telling their pain.

Ariel awakes from extreme thirst. The desire to get a drip of water pulls her out from her lucid memories. It hasn’t rained since Prospero came here. Unwillingly, Ariel serves him on tasks to get a few sips as reward.

———

Caliban, lying on the edge of the cliff. The cliff has risen straight up from the coast since the land first extruded from the ocean. He awakens from yesterday, opens his eyes but blind by the sun, realizing he is still being barred inside a cell. Being exposed to the sun for so long, not an inch of his skin looks nice. They crack, blood leaks out, and recover, and crack again. Since being placed in the cell, there’s no place for him to run. No shelter for him to hide.

Today, weird.

The wind. The wind before the rain.

The smell.

The smell of humid air.

And a drip.

A drip dropped on Caliban's face.

And another after another.

Then the rain started pouring from everywhere. As if they’re trying to give back what they have been taken away from the past decades.

———

After the flood, there’s mud everywhere. Earthworms, mosquitos, all kinds of insects coming out all at once to get the precious water.

“What the hell is the hell”, annoyed murmurs from a group of outsiders. Mosquitos sing wildly around their ears, drinking their fresh, juicy blood. They act exaggeratedly, clown dancing to avoid being attacked by the mosquito bites. Their feet are covered with mud, which takes a lot of effort to move one step forward. Their clothes are all wet and in a mess, dirt everywhere, some on their faces.

Staying on the top of the tree, Ariel observes these ants-sized people from her angle.

From Caliban:

He took off my voice.
I can’t speak.
I wanted to cry, but there’s no more water inside my body.
I am dry.