"What happens in these hours, or rather what dictates them bad or good, shifts daily between the perspectives of all cosmic species. The human good and bad was June 21st. The Beltlogers’ was October 4th. The Denebs’ was February 11th.
And so on.
That wasn’t very easy to calculate. It took all the nuclear reactors in the world to churn the information and relay the sum to SATAN. Satan was a computer. A huge, very smart computer. A mere coincidence; its name was an acronym. It stood for Solidify And Tantalize All Numbers.
It did what all other computers didn’t, or were afraid of doing: it beat the shit out of numbers, and solidified their cries of help in the form of stone tablets. Absolute truths were easy to find out now, but let us not talk about that now.
It was the good hour.
Everyone was standing behind a white wall. Staring still above a floor checkered black."
Obo was a mountain.
He did not choose to be a mountain. He did not like being a mountain. He did not even know why his name was Obo. Sometimes, Obo wished he was not a mountain. Yet, there stood Obo; a broad, gigantic pinnacle of rock. Unmoving, unimpressed.
Upon Obo’s mountainsides grew a forest. Obo did not like trees, as their roots rudely dug into his soil and their leaves hid a great part of him away from the sun’s warmth.