Part of WordPress’s writing course Finding Everyday Inspiration.
Today’s writing prompt is a shameless advertising of Google Maps, which we are supposed to use as a starting point for our story. I’m not doing product placement. I don’t even like Google Maps. They’ve led me to unspeakable places where I didn’t want to go in the first place. They always get me lost. I wonder whether it’s the product’s feature (mind you, not a bug) or whether I’m just so clueless. (I don’t wonder, I know I’m clueless.)
There’s no place but where you are.
What I seriously wonder about now is where I got this quote. I couldn’t have invented it. Come on, you can’t invent anything original anymore. But since I can’t find the author of the quote, let’s attribute it to myself. You’re welcome. Thinking of the place where I am and how it happened that I am here—apart from the unfortunate coincidence that I happened to be born here—I recalled my nation’s foundational story. In the light of the story, no wonder I’m clueless. I took after my forefathers.
If Google Maps did their job, they would place me correctly in the Czech Republic. Lazy people call it Czechia nowadays, which leads to a common confusion with Chechnya. Well, close enough, one Soviet satellite state or another, whatever. We used to be Czechoslovakia. That’s when we were pals with Slovakia (not to be confused with Slovenia), but we had a little domestic and split states. Shrug. Here is how Czechia came to be according to a legend.
Once upon a time, there was this guy called (wait for it) Czech (surprise!). Today known as Forefather Czech (I dub him the Lazy Sod, you’ll soon see why). This First Czech and his tribe resided in what is now Croatia. (Which is where our foundational story really should end: so we are descended from Croatians and that’s it.) However, the mythological First Czech felt frisky, gathered his people and led them towards the setting sun. (People with sense would follow the sunrise but not the Clueless Czech.)
Our Frisky Forefather didn’t anticipate that the hike would be such a bugger. He and his tribe were soon totally wiped, so, probably in imitation of Moses on Mount Sinai, Forefather Czech climbed the nearest mountain. There, he didn’t receive any instructions, but he was hallucinating the vision of a rich and fertile land. He rolled down the mountain and, the Lazy Sod that he was, he told his people they could just as well stay where they were because it wasn’t getting any better.
He was so wrong. I wish he had the sense to move a bit further west, and I could have been born in Canada. Also, please bear in mind that this is a creative retelling which utilises a degree of poetic licence.