Maudlin Moons

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic


The first four words just came to me in a flash of inspiration and I left it for a bit then came back to finish a paragraph. Later added the rest to have some sort of narrative.

Submitted: December 15, 2017

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Submitted: December 15, 2017

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[I] Distant shade showers comfort on towers made to touch the sky. When the light blinds those too small to find the sparkle of the stars, too far from lands both scarred and shone, a happy wanderer sits alone on his throne below the fields and above the sea, where he sees the heavens touch his Earth. He lives and dies and no one cares but someone cries. Some dare to live their lives as he tried. Others reach high, while one touches the sky.

He finds no meaning among the stars nor method to heal his scars. He is crushed and reborn; burned and turned to glass; disfigured and perfected over and over until the last turn of the road brings him to gates long closed. An eternity comes and goes and there he waits, frozen in time and place. The stars fade and then the lights come back on. The universe opens and closes like dusk and dawn. His patience wears thin. To him each passing second is a lifetime, while down below time winds on: he is only gone for a few moments. When he returns he learns the fate of the one who came before him. The happy wanderer has waited just as long for his return and though he cannot be seen, he is clearly heard.

"YOU ARE FOOLISH TO ATTEMPT MY PATH." "At last! What must I do to breach the unknown?" "YOU CANNOT. MY THRONE IS MY HOME--NOW AND ALWAYS. MAKE YOUR OWN."

[II] The bones of men and women and children killed by his own hands littered the Wanderer's home. He removed each one and made offerings to the sun. From then on he was alone, shedding himself of all he owned. He gave and helped, begged and starved;  approaching death he met a young bard, the keeper of the Gate.

"Live not, you suffer for a purpose." "My end has always felt close but I never arrive. Death is a hopeful lie." "And to me life is a dream. It seems you are ready. Come and see: the gates open for you and me." "I do believe, but my time has come and gone like an endless song. I refuse to leave." "You choose to stay. Have it your way."

With each beginning and end the man began to mend. He made many friends and wandered alone, forgetting all that he'd once known. In time, atop Earth that hid ruins long dissolved, he built a throne below the fields and above the sea, where he played and stayed. He lived. When he died, just before passing into the beyond, the bard played him a song, and he finally knew why death took so long to arrive.


© Copyright 2018 Urquelle de Jérémie. All rights reserved.

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