The ones who block themselves

Imperfect Circle had always struggled to roll. That was bad. It was the purpose of being a circle to roll. Those who did not roll were unable to move forward, forever Shapelings. Today was yet another practice for the future. The practices always happened, their repetitiveness a particularly cruel metaphor for the journey of which the practices were meant to imitate. There were many times in which Imperfect Circle had wondered what the point of rolling was. Once or twice, Imperfect Circle had even considered being an eternal Shapeling, to throw off all expectations, and consequently, all status. Imperfect Circle had never managed to communicate that. It had always fallen flat. 

And so, to practice Imperfect Circle went. Up and down. Forward and backward. Close to the front, perhaps, but never ever as close as Imperfect Circle desired. To the front was perfection, a select few who transcended all flaw. Fast yet steady, Large but nimble, simultaneously ungrindable and always grinding. Imperfect Circle was aware that those who were further back thought the same of them, but that was obviously untrue. Imperfect Circle once had dreams of rolling ever further into the future, of going farther than ever circle before them. It was a bitter memory, and the reason that Imperfect Circle had lost all of the big dreams that they once had. 

Then, one of the circles in the front fell. There was a sudden tension in the area, as if the spikes of emotion within each circle had leaked out. It wasn't supposed to be like this, the Perfect circles would never fall. But nevertheless, there the circle in the front was, flat on the ground, the only distinguishing feature from a common Shapeling was the grinding of the edge. The other circles in the front passed it by, and Imperfect Circle got a closer look at the edge of the fallen circle. Imperfect Circle saw the hint of an ungrinded edge, and suddenly felt at peace. 

Perhaps, despite all that was different, between the front, the middle, and even the back, none of them were perfect, and perhaps they were all alike. And so the circles rolled, and as they rolled, they grinded, as was the role of a circle.