Once upon a time, there was a stone cutter. Tanned and tired and nearly crispy from the days he’d spent under the sun, carrying rocks from the river, to the stone-gathering place.
One day, he looked up to the sky and said, “I don’t want to be a stone cutter anymore. I want to be the element that bothers me everyday. I want to be the sun.”
And his wish was granted. The stone cutter became Sun.
As sun, he was cheerful and warm. He dispersed heat and made plants grow and even enjoyed the idea of drying laundry.
But then the monsoon season came and nobody paid much attention to him anymore. So he wished he could become Water.
As water, he cycled faster than the sun. He reached deeper into the secret grottoes of the earth. At some point in his travels, he was struck with solid, unbending stone. And he realized that there is an element stronger and more stubborn than the waters: Rock.
As rock, he was sturdy. Mighty. And all bearing. He let the world go around him. And he could stop them if he wished. But then a part of him began to chip. A part of him was being taken and broken and clubbed to smaller, undistinguishable pieces.
Looking at his wounds, he who was cutting him apart and - in another place and time - brought his shade and food. The same person who did and dried his laundry. Who gathered his drinking water. Who was cutting the stones in his place, since he quit doing his job as stone cutter.
As much as he changed, he couldn't be altogether sturdy, flexible, flowing, warm and annoyed. But as a man, he was already granted with the one flimsy ability to command the most powerful force of nature: The Wife.