1 - On the shores of a star Picture

'Kay, forgive the strangeness.
In my spare time, I've just decided to start writing my own mythos. I've kinda been inspired by fairy tales, greek mythology and even more modern works like the Silmarillion, to do a colourful, and nonsensical chronicle of my own fantastical world.
'Sorry that I'm putting so much text here, as well. I'm not gonna ask anyone to read it, I just wanted some place where I could store all this, like an online story book page.
If you should happen to take a look at the text below, please do not go in expecting deep character growth and chemistry or whatever, 'cause that's not what I'm doing. It's plain, straightforward, and stupidly simple, so a young reader could find it accessible. Who knows? Maybe my ego will make me read it to my own kids, one day.
If you have any criticisms, let me know. It'd be great if I could make this more fun for my own re-reading pleasure. :~)
The world used to be a very different place.
There was no land, only water. Oceans so vast they had no end.
And the Day used to have its own stars, just like the Night, glittering in the sky.
And on one starry day, drifting in the only ocean was a boat of clay. And in this boat, there were three peculiar people.
There was The Ferryman, a sailor, who rowed the boat.
There was The Claymaker, who had himself, with his dozen hands, had made the boat.
And lastly there was the Nomad. It was he who had first suggested that the three of them venture out, in search of marvelous new realms.
The three of them had sailed for so long, they had quite forgotten where and when they had even begun their journey.
But one day, the Nomad, who was the most impatient of the three, grew particularly frustrated. He stood up and demanded that he choose which way they sail. The other two said nothing.
The Nomad pointed up at the sky, and said,
"We should follow the Sun, and row to where it meets with the horizon, where the sky is golden, every evening!"
The other two weren't interested, but the Nomad carried on, and said that where they went should be his decision, because this adventure had been his idea in the first place.
The Ferryman, unimpressed, stood up as well, and said,
"No. We should go along with the wind. It is easier for me to row this boat, with a breeze behind us."
The Nomad wasn't convinced, so the Ferryman said that where they sailed should be his decision, because he was the one doing all the rowing.
The Claymaker, not usually bothered to join in with petty quarrels, noticed they were heading towards some raincloud, so he rose up as well, saying,
"Let's just sail away from the rain! I hate being out in such miserable weather."
The other two ignored him, so he raised his voice, and said that the direction they took should be his decision, because it was he who had made the boat.
None of them were satisfied. They just kept bickering, on and on, until the rain had come overhead. By this time, their squabble had turned quite furious.
They ranted more and more, their voices rising all the time. Soon, their argument grew so loud, that things began to tremble. Not only did the boat shake, and the waters churn, but even the rainclouds above began to rumble.
But that did not stop them.
They argued on and on, louder and louder, until not only did the boat shake, the waters churn, and the clouds rumble, but the clouds had also started to burn. Streaks of sharp-white light began to dance and strike across the heavens.
But their argument was so heated they did not even notice.
They bickered over and over, angrier and angrier, until not only did the boat shake, the waters churn, the clouds rumble, and the clouds burn, but there came a deafening gale-like growl, coming from above the clouds themselves.
Finally, the three stopped, and looked up in worry.
To their horror, massive white gem-like stones had begun to fall through the clouds and down towards the ocean. They realized that their argument had been so terrible; the stars themselves had been shaken off the sky.
As the three struggled to avoid being crushed, the fallen stars settled on the ocean floor. Some began to pile up, and built up higher and higher, until they perked up above the ocean surface.
When the calamity finally came to an end, and the rainclouds passed on, the three saw what lay before them. The day-time sky was now empty, except for the lonesome Sun, and all the stars were now down there with them.
They rowed cautiously to the edge of one of the massive piles, and both the Claymaker and Nomad walked ashore.
The pair grew excited at the incredible, glistening land they now had to explore. But to their dismay, the light of the stars began to dim. Then they began to sag, and then they began to turn soft and mushy, until the whole land was nothing but a great dark mass of dirt.
Disheartened, the two turned back to the shore, but to their shock, the Ferryman was not there waiting for them. Still furious over their argument, he had sailed off and left them there.
And so, the Claymaker and Nomad could think of nothing better to do, than wait there, on those shores, for every starless day, and every moonlit night, hoping.
Sometimes, when clouds came overhead, the rumble which they had called Thunder and the brightness which they called Lightning, would return. It was the echo of their argument, having returned to haunt them.
And through every storm, the two waited, hoping that just like the reminder of their foolish squabble, the Ferryman would someday come back.
Continue Reading: Echo