Liquid Soul – Very Short Story

A boy wandered upon an empty road in the middle of the night. The air was cool and fresh and the leaves were turning yellow. After a couple of miles, he turned left into the thicket and went along an old path that had almost disappeared in the undergrowth. After some minutes, he came upon an open field. It was hilly and difficult to grow anything, thus it was abandoned for other, more dreary, purposes. He glanced by his feet and looked with a blank expression upon a wooden cross impaled in the ground. It was half decayed and tilting, yet he could still read the markings on the wood. “Gyordic was favoured by the gods and his life was a happy one.”

The boy smiled ruefully and continued on his path up one of the hills that overlooked the small valley. There were thousands of such crosses scattered across the field. And there were even more of them over the hills which he could not see. He sat on a rock, made himself comfortable, and stared blearily out on the view. His mind was empty, his life void of any great dramas or concerns. His life was simple and he took joy from simple things. He considered himself blessed to be able to take these strolls, while so many others could not. No, they were in no position to move at all.

The wind that had coursed through the leaves had become still and everything was quiet. He heard two dogs bark in the distance, but their howls soon died and the night was still once more.

A yawn escaped him.

Then, suddenly, there was a flash between the trees. It grew slowly, steadily becoming brighter until it shot into the air, almost as if a drop of water falling in reverse. The soul was much like water, he thought, and the light in his eyes became more lively, more awake. He now looked attentively across the sea of graves, hoping to spot another soul being released onto the heavens.


© Christopher Stamfors

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