There was a circle of ten or so mountains each about 3000 meters tall and 200 meters apart from one another. Atop these mountains, on the very peaks, lived one man apiece.
One day one of the men on one of the mountains (the leftmost one if you were looking at it from the southeastmost one, if you want to know) got up in the morning and, after having his morning coffee, realized with a tinge or two of remorse, that he was dying.
And so, after washing the dishes, he ventured out of his cabin at the tip of the mountain and stood on the tip there, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted:
“My friends, I regret to inform you that I am dying.”
This statement echoed across the stratosphere and into the residences of the other men on the other mountains and, gradually, after having their morning coffees, they elected to respond.
The rightmost man shouted back: “Terribly sorry to hear that, old pal.”
The man of the slantish mountain yelled: “Oh, how unfortunate! I do so wish I could be there alongside you!”
The westwardmost mountain man cried: “Ah! A pity! If only we’d had more time together, my friend!”
Finally, the man of the lastly mountain screamed: “WE MUST FIND SOME TIME TO SPEND TOGETHER BEFORE THE END! IF ONLY A MOMENT OR TWO! WE WILL CHAT ABOUT YOUR PAST TRIALS, ADVENTURES, LOVES, GAINS AND LOSSES! AND, IN DOING SO, PROVIDE YOU WITH NEW, FINAL, LASTING MEMORIES TO COMFORT YOU IN YOUR PASSING!”
At this a swell of collective assent arose from the mountaintops. Everybody agreed that this was the best idea.
After listening intently to the chorus of sympathies, the dying man cried out:
“Oh, it does do me good to hear such empathies from you noble gentlemen. Indeed, I think I should like nothing better than to spend my last days with you, my oldest and most familiar of companions! Do please find some time to travel over my way. I would visit you all myself, but obviously my condition is not likely to allow for it.” He chuckled. “I eagerly await your company. My door will be open.”
He then withdrew into his living quarters, eased himself carefully into his big, oaken chair, and waited for his friends to arrive. He did some reminiscing, mulling over the high and low points of his life, but soon discovered that the majority were actually medium points, so he did not do that for too long. Instead, he thought about how good it would be to see those friends of his and did much smiling in anticipation of this.
But the mountains were steep and the way between them was long and so his friends did not come that afternoon, that evening, or that night.
The following morning, the leftmost man awoke and, a bit later as he swished his coffee about in his mouth, surmised that, yes, he was indeed still dying – this time even more than yesterday. So, after doing the dishes, he sojourned out of his shanty, his feet dragging involuntarily as he did so, and bellowed (with some difficulty):
“Dear friends, I’m afraid that, as it stands, I appear to be dying with even greater vigor than I was a day ago!”
After their coffees had been completed, the replies came.
The man of the farmost mountain declared: “My poor fellow! Were I there I would bestow upon you a gift of a thousand bouquets of flowers of your favorite species!”
The man on the wonkiest mountain steadied himself then professed: “Ah, you sad, good soul! If only I could procure for you your most appreciated musical instrument and serenade you with your most beloved of melodies!”
Lastly, the man of the finally mountain shrieked: “I MUST COME THERE AND PREPARE FOR YOU YOUR MOST ADMIRED DISHES! THE MEALS FROM YOUR YOUTH, MIDDLE AGE, AND TWILIGHT YEARS – I WILL COOK THEM ALL AND WE SHALL ENJOY A SUMPTUOUS AND POIGNANT FEAST!”
At this an uprising of combined acquiescence wafted from the mountaintops. Everybody agreed that this was the best idea.
The dying man of the leftmost mountain listened intently, nodded his head earnestly, smacked his lips and delivered his reply:
“Oh, my glorious and most caring of companions! Your words move me so and, yes, I do feel there is still time left! Please make fast your arrival here! We shall have our feast and I can die a happy man!” He turned to go inside, then turned back to remark: “My door is open! I await you eagerly.”
He then retreated into his settlement, lowered himself down ever so slowly into his big, oaken chair and awaited the arrival of his friends. He smiled, thinking of the feast, but his face soon got tired of smiling so he stopped and simply sat.
But the mountains remained steep and the distance between them persisted in being long and so no feast was held – not when the sun was at its highest point, at its lowest point, nor when the moon had taken its place.
The last morning, the leftmost man woke up and had his morning coffee, but found it did not feel good to drink it so he only had a little. He decided not to wash the dishes and stumbled from his shack, at times on twos, at times on fours, and then, supporting himself upright with one hand, emitted as loudly as he was able:
“Friends. I am still here, but I cannot say for how much longer.”
This time the response did not come immediately following morning coffee and the leftmost man dozed off for a bit as he waited there.
Ultimately, it was the man of the ultimately mountain who wailed: “SIR! MYSELF AND THE MEN OF THE TWO MOUNTAINS NEAREST ME HAVE FORMED A COALITION WITH A DOCTRINE BASED EXPRESSLY AROUND JOINING TOGETHER TO VISIT YOU IN YOUR CLOSING HOURS! AND, AFTER HASHING OUT SOME DETAILS, WE INTEND TO DO JUST THAT!”
With this, the three mountains of the coalition perked up and began to jabber excitedly. It sounded as though many grand ideas were being tossed around.
The dying man of the leftmost mountain awoke from his impromptu slumber and listened with great interest to the echoes of the coalition. He smirked a crooked half-smile.
“That all sounds very good,” he mustered. “Please. Come.”
The throes of debate continued amongst the coalition members, but he hoped that he had been heard regardless. He then retired into his home, slumped into his big, oaken chair, and awaited the arrival of his friends. He was frightened.
Throughout the day – at its midpoint, at its apex, and at its closing, the mountains were still steep and the expanse of land between them was as long as it ever was.
The next day, after having his morning cup of coffee and throwing out his disposable dishware (for he only ever used disposable dishware), the man of the mountain that sparkled a bit when the sunlight hit it just so strolled from his house and announced:
“My good, good friends! The previous evening I deigned to attempt to make Potatoes au Gratin for dinner! And—” There was a dramatic pause here. “I am overjoyed to inform you that it was a resounding success!”
Morning coffees set aside, the mountain men replied one by one.
The southeastmost hollered: “Good show!”
The slantish brayed: “Sounds just scrumptious!”
The farmost thundered: “I really must get the recipe from you!”
And the man of the most ridiculous mountain howled: “WE MUST ALL COME ROUND YOUR PLACE AND SAMPLE YOUR CULINARY PROWESS FOR OURSELVES!”
At this an explosion of amalgamated agreement erupted from the mountaintops. Everybody agreed that this was the best idea.