Every time the soft petals of the white roses sprung from their stalks and stood high in the night it meant a new life was born in the small village of Chirinche. The white roses were always closely monitored, every single one of them watched by at least one pair of watchful eyes, unflinching for fear of missing a sign. Tonight, under the blanket of the starry night, three white roses outstretched their limbs clawing at the stars, and three petite roses sprang from their stalks. The new lives were immediately announced by the person on watch and the whole village bustled in excitement. Everywhere, everyone opened their doors and went outside, curious to discover where the new lives were to arrive in the world. It was customary for the new life to sprout anywhere and everywhere, so it was always a pleasant endeavour for the villagers to search for the newborns.
They first found the newborn tabby kitten sprouting from one of the flowers of the many taxus vines surrounding the village and was plucked from the taxus flower by its tail. The kitten was then placed on the soft crunchy grass where it would lay confused until its nose picked out the strongest scent. The kitten then followed this scent, as it would lead him to his mother cat. Eventually, the kitten found its mother and quickly snuggled under the comfort of her white fur.
Shortly after, the sprout of a new bamboo shot was found dangling from a lamp post. Its roots clung to the lamp post for dear life, unwilling to move from its location of birth. The villagers desperately tried to detach the bamboo shot from the lamp but even with the strength of four of the strongest villagers, the sprout wouldn’t budge. The villagers, worried, consulted the elder about the bamboo shoot. The elder then explained how bamboo shoots didn’t like to be moved from any place they were planted in and would not move no matter what. However, he assured, that there was one trick to making bamboo shoots move from their place. The elder said that all they had to do was tickle it. The villagers promptly went back to the lamp post with their newfound wisdom and tickled the sprout. Its roots flashing around in laughter, the sprout immediately ceased to hold the lamp post and fell into the careful hands of a villager, who then carried the bamboo shoot to his garden and introduced him to his new form.
Around the same time, the body of a newborn baby was found tangled on a giant spider’s web in the outskirts of the village. The spider saw the baby surfacing within its web and quickly alerted the villagers by weaving a string loudspeaker, so the baby’s newborn screams were heard. Promptly, the villagers raced to the location of the screams and found the spider’s web. The villagers watched as the spider tenderly caressed the baby’s face with its hairy front paws and watched as the baby’s screams turned into laughter. The baby looked up at the giant spider’s many watchful eyes and hugged clung to its legs tightly. It took the villagers no time to conclude who the baby’s mother was, and was swiftly named Arachne, with the giant spider’s approval.
Arachne grew up to be a curious child, always entangling herself among books and with unusual questions most villagers didn’t know the answers to. During the day, Arachne would spend time helping her mother out. Her mother, Ariadne, would provide her string to weave webs for her and to create items for trade with the village. Arachne crafted all sorts of oddities the villagers might need. From rope, to clothes, to even the strings of kites and violins. Arachne weaved the string in such a way that it became known throughout the whole village for its unparalleled strength and durability. In her spare time, she would lay back on her mother’s web, reading books she traded for her products. Arachne was always willing to immerse herself into any sort of book. Stories of knights and princesses, mystical and uncharted lands, exotic animals, cuisine, science and history. What interested her the most though, were books about why things were the way they were. Day and night Arachne would ponder about why the sky was blue, why did fish live in the water, why when people drank water, they felt refreshed, and even why sadness existed. Sometimes, Arachne would scour the village searching for someone who might possess the answers to her many questions. Usually she came back empty handed. Sometimes she managed to resolve some of her riddles such as when she learned that sadness existed because the clouds felt it was unfair that they were the only ones who could cry, so God willed it so humans could cry as well and created sadness. The more Arachne learned, the more questions she had, and the more she wanted to know. However, there was one question which Arachne desperately sought an answer more so than others: what would happen if there were no white roses.
Arachne spent the next few days asking anyone if they knew what would happen if there were no white roses. She went from door to door asking the question, and every one of the villagers said they did not know the answer. Desperate to quench her desire, Arachne was not about to give up. She stopped asking the villagers and went to the trees on the outskirts, to question the parrots. The talking birds were known to possess knowledge and gossip taken from every place they had travelled to. Arachne asked every single parrot she encountered what they knew about what would happen if there were no white roses, but they didn’t know either. Disheartened, she was about to turn back when a large parrot, with crimson red plumage beckoned her to him. The parrot squawked and told her it suspected that the elder of the village would have a clue as to what would happen if there were no white roses anymore. The elder was old and wise and Arachne was certain she could trust the large parrot. Jumping with joy, Arachne thanked the red bird and left to find the elder.
It took Arachne less than fifteen minutes to reach the elders house from the parrot trees. Her unwavering curiosity and fast pace made it possible to reach her desired destination faster than most. Arachne excitedly knocks on the elder’s door, and he eagerly lets her in for a cup of tea. They sat down in the elders’ living quarters where Arachne immediately asks the elder if he knew what would happen if the white roses disappeared. The elder chuckles and tells Arachne that he does indeed know the answer. Brimming with excitement, Arachne explains that she’d been looking for a long time for the answer to this question and asks if he could please tell her the answer. The elder looks at Arachne carefully and tells her he cannot say. Confused, Arachne asks why, and he says that he is forbidden, and he will never reveal the answer. Disappointed, Arachne finishes the tea, bids the elder farewell, and heads back to Ariadne’s web. On the way back, Arachne’s mind desperately strains to find a way to find out, and ultimately settles for the only response to answer her question she can find.
When she gets home, Arachne asks her mother for some string. Ariadne eagerly complies, and hands Arachne the string. Immediately, she starts weaving, and slowly a pair of sharp scissors takes shape. Just before dusk, Arachne heads back to the village and states she wants to watch over the white roses tonight. The villagers willingly agree, unaware of Arachne’s intentions and head to their houses to eat supper. Arachne then slowly walks to the flower field where all the white roses grew. Grabbing her scissors with both hands she gazes at the long thorny stalks in front of her, with bulging beautiful roses rising from them. She ferociously starts cutting down the stalks and the white roses fall from their high pedestals down with a soft crunch onto the grass. The more roses Arachne cut the drowsier Arachne felt. Every rose she cut urged her to sleep, but her curiosity kept her awake. At the verge of falling asleep, Arachne laid crouched in front of the final stalk, tired and panting. With her last effort she leans forward and cuts the final white rose down, flying gently to its new green bed. As soon as Arachne cut the last stalk, she fell asleep instantly.
That night Chirinche basked in the pleasant moonlight, its streets littered with sleeping bugs and tabby cats, gardens of sleeping bamboo shoots, and houses filled with the warmth of gentle pleasant sleep. Everywhere in Chirinche everyone had fallen asleep. What Arachne didn’t know was that she had willed the small town to a long period of slumber. Outside Chirinche in other towns and cities people continued their days normally. Everywhere in the world day and night went by, oblivious to the resting Chirinche. Night reigned over the town and its warm light bathed the city in a soothing blanket.
Under the bright shine of the moon, in the field of destroyed roses, between the shattered stalks, next to Arachne’s hand, a rose sprout blossomed. Sleep would not prevail, and sometime in the future, Chirinche would wake up once again.
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