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The island that was blown away

One day, a strong wind started blowing on a little island paradise.
All of the people who lived on the island were shocked, for such winds never before swept their way through. Such winds were never before: never, ever, in the history of the island’s existence, which, is a very long time since the island is mentioned in the Old Testament, and various other places. As is to be expected, all the people started wondering what the meaning of this was.
They consulted with the elders, who had never before seen such a sight. The elders, clad in their usual black garb, symbolizing the fact that they had outlived most of their family and are ready for their ticket to the AfterParty, saw the winds as a sign of the moral decay of contemporary society. So, the people consulted with the Church Leaders, also clad in black, symbolizing the fact that they are humbly in the service of the One throwing the AfterParty, who saw the winds as a sign of the imminent arrival of the Roman Catholic Pope to the island. The people, unsatisfied by these abstract and/or absurd explanations and unwilling to go to some chicken-bone throwing witch doctor type, consulted with the somber blue-wearing political leaders, who saw the winds as a sign of Turkey’s continued intransigence.  Meanwhile, the winds were picking up speed, and very small animals and objects as well. Still wondering what the meaning of this was, the people nailed down their most prized possessions, and sat around scratching their heads, when all of a sudden, the whole island started to move.
The island moved past Turkey, Greece and Spain, floated by half the periphery of Africa, passed Mauritius in the distance, left Australia in its wake, and kept moving.  The winds did not stop for forty days and forty nights.  The wheat, vegetables and fruits, the trees, they all died.  The chickens, the goats and all the animals died.  The fish swam away.  The people started to go hungry.  No one was prepared, except maybe some religious nut jobs who long ago foretold the end of the world and had a store house full of tinned goods, but they weren’t sharing with the rest of the people.  The people couldn’t even trade their most prized possessions for a tin of tuna in brine because no one had any use for a pair of Christian Louboutin heels anymore, although you could trade a Mercedes Convertible for a couple of tins of tuna if it had a full water tank, since fresh water was scarce as well. Chaos ensued.
Then the wind stopped.  The people looked to see where they were, and realized that the island had sailed along the sea and through the lakes and rivers, until it reached the top of the highest mountain in the world.  It was such a strange thing to see.  There were birds everywhere, and the treetops hung over the island, generously providing much needed shade from the strong sun.  The tops of the trees were loaded with fruit and the people were happy.
So, what do you think happened next? The people lived a fruitarian existence happily ever after? Don’t buy it? You think that they started hoarding fruit and asking exorbitant trades from the less privileged and less able? Or perhaps a big battle ensued over who would now be Head of this new Kingdom in the trees. I guess we would need more information about this island paradise in the first place, about the people who lived there before it was swept away, to really know what happened afterwards.  And that, Reader, we may never know.

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