Stone Age
My existence began in the same manner in which all humans start their lives: an eruption of passion. For humans, the passion comes from sex. My eruption was caused by what at the time was believed to be Grannus, God of fire. Later, Grannus would be dethroned and renamed, becoming only an ordinary volcano.
While the climax of sexuality heralds the coming of new life, the climax of the wrath of Grannus – or a volcanic eruption, if you prefer – heralds only death and destruction. My life began as a flow of lava. I was unable to control my temperature or my downward trajectory. I could not warn the villagers to get away. I helplessly burned, destroyed, and consumed their buildings and their bodies.
For what seemed like an eternity, I seethed in a sea of anger and guilt over what I had done. The images of the human beings fleeing before me and the charred landscape left in my wake were all I knew.
But time has a way of healing wounds. Over the years I cooled, and one fateful day I saw human beings approaching.
I wanted to warn them to back away, but enough time had passed that I no longer posed them any danger. Instead, I could feel them scraping away at me. I felt myself being lifted up and being removed from my mountain. Where were the humans taking me, and why? I did not know, but as the steps took me further and further away from the place of my birth, I had the distinct feeling I would never return.
Eventually, the humans carrying me stopped at another village. This one was considerably smaller than the one I had destroyed years ago.
Upon seeing me, the people began to hoot and shout excitedly. Somehow, I was significant to them. Was I a trophy of some kind, a proof that humanity had survived the terrible calamity of me?
I felt myself being tied to some time of thin wooden shaft. Soon, a group of humans were heading into a wooded area. I had noticed the green trees off in the distance from my perch upon the mountain, but never did I dream I would actually be in its midst.
A furry, four legged animal was found drinking from a nearby river. From the hushed whispers of the humans, I could tell that this was the source of all the excitement. With a long twang, I felt myself flying through the air, and then buying myself into the flesh of the animal. Blood was everywhere.
I could hear the humans hooting excitedly, and I understood: they had been hunting this creature. Once again, my only purpose was a merchant of death. One of the humans yanked me free from the carcass of the beast, and the villagers proudly started marching back to camp. I wished that the human carrying me would drop me, that I might be lost and forgotten on this forest floor for eternity. I would rather never interact with another soul than live out my life causing death.
The villagers were overjoyed when they saw the dead animal, and quickly struck me against a rock to create a spark, which lit a fire. I was sure that the fire would consume them, just as the fire of my origin did, but somehow it stayed just where they wanted it to be. The fire cooked the animal, and then the hungry humans gorged themselves on its flesh.
I realized that the reason why I had caused so much excitement is that these humans might not have had anything to eat if it were not for me. It was at that moment that I felt I understood my place in the circle of life. I may cause death, yes, but only through the death of some can others breathe life. The animal that died by my edge was feeding humanity.
I relished the next hunt and the next after that. Five times, the humans launched me into the air, to be impaled upon different beasts.
On the sixth day, a younger man launched me and I flew off course. I smashed against the mouth of a cave, and heard a sickening crunch. I could tell from the disapproving looks of the other humans that I had been irrevocably damaged by the crash. I was no longer useful for hunting.
Some of the other humans made the long journey to the mountain, and returned with many more shards of what their ancestors would one day call magma rock. I was obsolete, replaced by an armada of sharper slivers. The poor sods – I knew not a single one realized they’d only be useful for a brief time, and then abandoned for a sharper, younger, prettier rock.
I despised the young man who had launched me on that ill-fated flight, and was furious when he picked me up and returned me to camp. I was useless now, I knew that – why did he have to humiliate me by keeping me around, to watch all the other magma shards get all the glory?
Though I was angry with him, I couldn’t help but notice him. Every time he returned from the hunt, he had his head hung low, and he never carried the kill. Evidently, he was a poor hunter. With food scarce, this meant his social status in the village was consequently quite low. There was an abundantly voluptuous woman with whom the young man often spoke, but she did not return his affections.
One day the young man either stayed behind or was left behind for the hunt. As far as I could tell, he was the only man of age who did not go. He wandered off from the down, kicking the dirt with frustration. When he returned, though, he was in remarkably better spirits. He carried a large chunk of gorgeous, spongy yellow rock. His ancestors a few hundred generations from now would name it limestone.
My first thought was that he planned on using it as a weapon, to prove his worth as a hunter. But if that was the case, why did he choose such a large chunk of the stuff?
Without any warning, he picked me up where I had uselessly rested on the ground for the past few days. He struck my backside against the rock, causing it to chip slightly.
What was the point of this? I didn’t know. I certainly didn’t see why the lovely yellow stone needed to be damaged. And I could see his hands bleeding from touching my still-rough edges. After a few hours, he stopped, placing me and the yellow rock beside each other under his animal-skin sleeping bag. It was the first time I had ever been so close to another rock, though we were unable to communicate to each other.
The young man continued this ritual every few days. Whenever he was not needed or wanted for the hunt, he used me to chip away at her. I didn’t know why or to what end, but I did notice that he had purpose in mind. He did not blindly smash away at her in anger, but with delicate, deliberate motions.
I finally realized what he was doing when I saw him staring longingly at the beautiful woman and then back at the yellow rock. He was making a likeness of her, and I was helping him do it.
Sadly, I could not express to him my pure joy at being enlisted in this task. For the first time, I was being used to make art, rather than cause death. I was making love, not war. With each chip and smash, I caressed and perfected her beautiful curves, her supple skin, and her beaded headdress. Every night, he placed the two us under his sleeping bag and we slept together, sharing in a secret. I didn’t know if she had grown to love me the way I had grown to love her, but I chose to believe she did. Those were the best days of my life.
There was only one question I still had: was the young man creating this to impress her, or to as a substitute for her? I wasn’t sure even he knew what the answer was.
Sadly, he never got the chance to show her on his own terms. One of the other boys discovered her while he slept. I wanted to cry out when she was torn away from me, but there was nothing I could do on my own.
In short order, my lovely limestone met her human inspiration. She rewarded the young man’s hard work and devotion with cruel, piercing laughter.
Early next morning, the young man grabbed me and his limestone doll and ran into the forest. Soon we were at the entrance to the cave where he had fired the errant arrow which had crippled me and bound together our destinies.
For a long time, he held the limestone statuette of his love and wept violently. Then, with a firm motion, he tossed her deep into the cave. I yearned for him to toss me in after her.
Instead, the young man palmed me anxiously. With the months of carving, I had worn down considerably. I only had one truly sharp edge left. With this edge, the young man jammed me against one wrist, and then the other. Once again, I became the unwitting instrument of death.
I had taken part in killing dozens of humans at my birth, but those humans meant nothing to me. I had not known their passions and their loves. I had never created anything beautiful with them. This man’s one life weighed upon my soul more than if my volcano had destroyed a million.
When the other humans finally found him, they were far too late. They did carry him back to the village solemnly, with me in tow. Somehow, they recognized the significance of me to his life, and they placed me on top of his body after they used me to spark a fire one last time.
For a brief, horrifying moment, I thought they intended to cook and eat him. But they only sang mournful dirges as his skin and bones melted away. The fire I started had burned him up completely before I knew it.
It was only then that I realized my love was still back in the cave. When would they go back for her, or at the very least, return me to the cave? But the other humans did neither. They did not even bother to remove me from the fire pit. I watched their lives as the years drifted by. The woman whom the young man had loved so fiercely found her own love, but died as she gave birth to his son. That boy grew up to be a great warrior, but he too grew old and died eventually. Generations of men and women were born and died, and soon I was unable to care about any of them or even tell them apart.
In addition to great hunters and warriors, there were great singers, drummers, and performers. But I never saw another great sculptor. Nor a great treasure seeker, or else they would have discovered the wonder that lay in a cave just a short distance away. Every day, all I could think of was if I’d ever see her again. Perhaps our love, like the love of the young man and the flesh and blood woman on which he based his art, was doomed from the beginning.
As the millennia crept by, the fire pit eventually went out. So called civilization replaced the hunter-gatherer lifestyle, and eventually the village was abandoned altogether. With alarming speed, humanity began to invent new things. Trails were replaced with roads, and forests were demolished by giant machines.
When I was at last gathered up by one of these giant machines, I had not been used by humanity for thousands of years. I had merely been a stone underfoot, a passive observer. I heard what the humans said to each other, but I could never be involved in any of it. I only existed to watch the world grow old and die, and I had all but given up on hope. If I learned that I was to be melted into oblivion and cease to exist, I would be glad of the knowledge.
I quickly learned that I, along with the rest of the rocks in the area, were indeed being smelted for a purpose – to make exhibits for the ‘Naturhistorisches Museum’ in what was now being called Vienna.
Just as I was being forced into a giant oven, I overheard from the workers in the foundry that I’d be made into a display case to showcase some ancient artifact. Just great, I thought. I’d exist forever in a stuffy building as a monument to the past. I’d glorify the bygone years of the human race, like when people laughed at and ostracized the man who had made my love.
My consciousness was slowly extinguishing as I was exposed to heat far hotter than had ever known. What made me myself was melting away forever.
Just before I vanished, I saw the smelter turn his attention to a gold tag on his workbench, intended to be affixed to my future display case, no doubt.
It read “Venus von Willendorf.”
While the climax of sexuality heralds the coming of new life, the climax of the wrath of Grannus – or a volcanic eruption, if you prefer – heralds only death and destruction. My life began as a flow of lava. I was unable to control my temperature or my downward trajectory. I could not warn the villagers to get away. I helplessly burned, destroyed, and consumed their buildings and their bodies.
For what seemed like an eternity, I seethed in a sea of anger and guilt over what I had done. The images of the human beings fleeing before me and the charred landscape left in my wake were all I knew.
But time has a way of healing wounds. Over the years I cooled, and one fateful day I saw human beings approaching.
I wanted to warn them to back away, but enough time had passed that I no longer posed them any danger. Instead, I could feel them scraping away at me. I felt myself being lifted up and being removed from my mountain. Where were the humans taking me, and why? I did not know, but as the steps took me further and further away from the place of my birth, I had the distinct feeling I would never return.
Eventually, the humans carrying me stopped at another village. This one was considerably smaller than the one I had destroyed years ago.
Upon seeing me, the people began to hoot and shout excitedly. Somehow, I was significant to them. Was I a trophy of some kind, a proof that humanity had survived the terrible calamity of me?
I felt myself being tied to some time of thin wooden shaft. Soon, a group of humans were heading into a wooded area. I had noticed the green trees off in the distance from my perch upon the mountain, but never did I dream I would actually be in its midst.
A furry, four legged animal was found drinking from a nearby river. From the hushed whispers of the humans, I could tell that this was the source of all the excitement. With a long twang, I felt myself flying through the air, and then buying myself into the flesh of the animal. Blood was everywhere.
I could hear the humans hooting excitedly, and I understood: they had been hunting this creature. Once again, my only purpose was a merchant of death. One of the humans yanked me free from the carcass of the beast, and the villagers proudly started marching back to camp. I wished that the human carrying me would drop me, that I might be lost and forgotten on this forest floor for eternity. I would rather never interact with another soul than live out my life causing death.
The villagers were overjoyed when they saw the dead animal, and quickly struck me against a rock to create a spark, which lit a fire. I was sure that the fire would consume them, just as the fire of my origin did, but somehow it stayed just where they wanted it to be. The fire cooked the animal, and then the hungry humans gorged themselves on its flesh.
I realized that the reason why I had caused so much excitement is that these humans might not have had anything to eat if it were not for me. It was at that moment that I felt I understood my place in the circle of life. I may cause death, yes, but only through the death of some can others breathe life. The animal that died by my edge was feeding humanity.
I relished the next hunt and the next after that. Five times, the humans launched me into the air, to be impaled upon different beasts.
On the sixth day, a younger man launched me and I flew off course. I smashed against the mouth of a cave, and heard a sickening crunch. I could tell from the disapproving looks of the other humans that I had been irrevocably damaged by the crash. I was no longer useful for hunting.
Some of the other humans made the long journey to the mountain, and returned with many more shards of what their ancestors would one day call magma rock. I was obsolete, replaced by an armada of sharper slivers. The poor sods – I knew not a single one realized they’d only be useful for a brief time, and then abandoned for a sharper, younger, prettier rock.
I despised the young man who had launched me on that ill-fated flight, and was furious when he picked me up and returned me to camp. I was useless now, I knew that – why did he have to humiliate me by keeping me around, to watch all the other magma shards get all the glory?
Though I was angry with him, I couldn’t help but notice him. Every time he returned from the hunt, he had his head hung low, and he never carried the kill. Evidently, he was a poor hunter. With food scarce, this meant his social status in the village was consequently quite low. There was an abundantly voluptuous woman with whom the young man often spoke, but she did not return his affections.
One day the young man either stayed behind or was left behind for the hunt. As far as I could tell, he was the only man of age who did not go. He wandered off from the down, kicking the dirt with frustration. When he returned, though, he was in remarkably better spirits. He carried a large chunk of gorgeous, spongy yellow rock. His ancestors a few hundred generations from now would name it limestone.
My first thought was that he planned on using it as a weapon, to prove his worth as a hunter. But if that was the case, why did he choose such a large chunk of the stuff?
Without any warning, he picked me up where I had uselessly rested on the ground for the past few days. He struck my backside against the rock, causing it to chip slightly.
What was the point of this? I didn’t know. I certainly didn’t see why the lovely yellow stone needed to be damaged. And I could see his hands bleeding from touching my still-rough edges. After a few hours, he stopped, placing me and the yellow rock beside each other under his animal-skin sleeping bag. It was the first time I had ever been so close to another rock, though we were unable to communicate to each other.
The young man continued this ritual every few days. Whenever he was not needed or wanted for the hunt, he used me to chip away at her. I didn’t know why or to what end, but I did notice that he had purpose in mind. He did not blindly smash away at her in anger, but with delicate, deliberate motions.
I finally realized what he was doing when I saw him staring longingly at the beautiful woman and then back at the yellow rock. He was making a likeness of her, and I was helping him do it.
Sadly, I could not express to him my pure joy at being enlisted in this task. For the first time, I was being used to make art, rather than cause death. I was making love, not war. With each chip and smash, I caressed and perfected her beautiful curves, her supple skin, and her beaded headdress. Every night, he placed the two us under his sleeping bag and we slept together, sharing in a secret. I didn’t know if she had grown to love me the way I had grown to love her, but I chose to believe she did. Those were the best days of my life.
There was only one question I still had: was the young man creating this to impress her, or to as a substitute for her? I wasn’t sure even he knew what the answer was.
Sadly, he never got the chance to show her on his own terms. One of the other boys discovered her while he slept. I wanted to cry out when she was torn away from me, but there was nothing I could do on my own.
In short order, my lovely limestone met her human inspiration. She rewarded the young man’s hard work and devotion with cruel, piercing laughter.
Early next morning, the young man grabbed me and his limestone doll and ran into the forest. Soon we were at the entrance to the cave where he had fired the errant arrow which had crippled me and bound together our destinies.
For a long time, he held the limestone statuette of his love and wept violently. Then, with a firm motion, he tossed her deep into the cave. I yearned for him to toss me in after her.
Instead, the young man palmed me anxiously. With the months of carving, I had worn down considerably. I only had one truly sharp edge left. With this edge, the young man jammed me against one wrist, and then the other. Once again, I became the unwitting instrument of death.
I had taken part in killing dozens of humans at my birth, but those humans meant nothing to me. I had not known their passions and their loves. I had never created anything beautiful with them. This man’s one life weighed upon my soul more than if my volcano had destroyed a million.
When the other humans finally found him, they were far too late. They did carry him back to the village solemnly, with me in tow. Somehow, they recognized the significance of me to his life, and they placed me on top of his body after they used me to spark a fire one last time.
For a brief, horrifying moment, I thought they intended to cook and eat him. But they only sang mournful dirges as his skin and bones melted away. The fire I started had burned him up completely before I knew it.
It was only then that I realized my love was still back in the cave. When would they go back for her, or at the very least, return me to the cave? But the other humans did neither. They did not even bother to remove me from the fire pit. I watched their lives as the years drifted by. The woman whom the young man had loved so fiercely found her own love, but died as she gave birth to his son. That boy grew up to be a great warrior, but he too grew old and died eventually. Generations of men and women were born and died, and soon I was unable to care about any of them or even tell them apart.
In addition to great hunters and warriors, there were great singers, drummers, and performers. But I never saw another great sculptor. Nor a great treasure seeker, or else they would have discovered the wonder that lay in a cave just a short distance away. Every day, all I could think of was if I’d ever see her again. Perhaps our love, like the love of the young man and the flesh and blood woman on which he based his art, was doomed from the beginning.
As the millennia crept by, the fire pit eventually went out. So called civilization replaced the hunter-gatherer lifestyle, and eventually the village was abandoned altogether. With alarming speed, humanity began to invent new things. Trails were replaced with roads, and forests were demolished by giant machines.
When I was at last gathered up by one of these giant machines, I had not been used by humanity for thousands of years. I had merely been a stone underfoot, a passive observer. I heard what the humans said to each other, but I could never be involved in any of it. I only existed to watch the world grow old and die, and I had all but given up on hope. If I learned that I was to be melted into oblivion and cease to exist, I would be glad of the knowledge.
I quickly learned that I, along with the rest of the rocks in the area, were indeed being smelted for a purpose – to make exhibits for the ‘Naturhistorisches Museum’ in what was now being called Vienna.
Just as I was being forced into a giant oven, I overheard from the workers in the foundry that I’d be made into a display case to showcase some ancient artifact. Just great, I thought. I’d exist forever in a stuffy building as a monument to the past. I’d glorify the bygone years of the human race, like when people laughed at and ostracized the man who had made my love.
My consciousness was slowly extinguishing as I was exposed to heat far hotter than had ever known. What made me myself was melting away forever.
Just before I vanished, I saw the smelter turn his attention to a gold tag on his workbench, intended to be affixed to my future display case, no doubt.
It read “Venus von Willendorf.”