The Cauldron

Note: this one is not, exactly, a story but it is a narrative form so it is labeled as such.

The surface is sometimes calm and placid but at others times it is a roiling mass of colors and viscosity churning into a vortex.
There are some things that can induce one behavior or another from the surface, but sometimes the contents act out as if of their own accord.

This level of independence makes it hard to predict what shape the fluidic surface will take at any given moment. It could be a green mass as smooth as polished granite or a black and oily whirlpool that threatens to pull anything into it. It could emit a warm and friendly glow with tantalizing and relaxing waves rippling the surface or it could be a cold and hard reflective surface of deep blue and silver; shunning any perception of what lies below.

The colors and densities change without pattern in an ever circulating representation of what it is to be human; what it is to feel; what it is to emote.

What it is to be.

The tempests sometimes bring great frustration and pain to any daring to brave the surface waters but they can also bring great rewards of contentment and peace.

Only the cauldron of one's heart knows the secrets of what it will pour onto its owner at any given moment.