My Name is Golem

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
The story of an anthropomorphic stone construct.

Submitted: October 02, 2015

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Submitted: October 02, 2015

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My name is Golem. It was given to me by my master who created me when he was young. At the time he explained that he needed someone to help him and to serve him. You see, he found a vast library that contained, he said, all the knowledge of the known world. He was alone and so needed to make something to help him where he could not help himself.

The library was old and falling apart in places, he would need me to clear out large amounts of debris so that he could explore further into the vast catacombs. In places, the shelves of scrolls and tomes reached twice his height and I would lift him up to get at the books.

I would also be his companion when he got lonely. We would talk for hours at a time and when he ran out of things to tell me about himself, he would talk about all the knowledge that he gleamed from the dusting sleeves.

He was a Wizard of the orient. He grew up on a rice paddy with his family and his families family. For generations they had tended the rice paddies. As I understand it, rice was a small grain that humans ingested to sustain themselves. I have never ingested anything, I have no need. I am not sure I even breathe.

He grew bored and sought to understand what lay beyond, beyond the horizon, beyond the sky and beyond the understanding of men. He left home at his family’s dismay and sought knowledge where ever it may lie.

He soon knew so much that the Imperial Palace recruited him as one of their scholars and with the vaults of the Imperial Library at his fingertips, his knowledge expanded greatly. It was here that he learnt of a lost library that contained all the information in existence.

With the Emperors leave, he beset on a quest to recover the library for the land and upon him, the Emperor bestowed the title of Wizard.

At first I was just a tool to him and him my master. But as time went by it seemed that a more deeply strengthening bond was being created. On more than one occasion he would call me friend. It was to my understanding that a friend was someone you had grown fond of and enjoyed being around. It vexed me greatly, but it pleased him.

Time went by and I saw in him a greyness appear. Not overnight, it was slow and steady and before I realised it, his hair had changed colour and his skin begun to shrivel. His gait became hunched and he became slow. Soon I had to carry him everywhere.

This is when he spoke to me of death and he would tell me that all things come to an eventual end. This confused me so much. It made no sense to me, if humans live such short lives than why do they do the things that they do?

They desire so much and it seemed to always be the same thing. To kill each other while at the same time to desperately procreate, death and life in a constant cycle. Now my own master’s desire for knowledge made no sense. If he is to die, then why waste it here in the library? What could he do with the knowledge when he is dead? Would he not have been better off spending his life with his family?

My master did not answer any of these questions as I held him in my arms walking down a long corridor. Looking down upon him I could see that the light had faded from his eyes. His lips had curled back from his mouth. His skin was dry and it was not long before I myself seemed to die. Shrouded in darkness, I could still feel my master in my arms.

After what seemed like an eternity, I could hear the muffled sounds of tinking, rapid, rhythmic and constant. A thin shaft of light pierced the eternal darkness. Was I to be reborn?

“Hey, I think we found a chamber.” I heard a muffled, soft voice and the tinking grew more frantic.

It was not long before the single shaft of light grew exponentially and people jumped into the hallway with me and for the first time there was enough light for me to see my master. But it was not my master, it was some thin brown creature.

“Hey, look at this statue holding a skeleton. Get a picture of it. I wonder what his story was.”


© Copyright 2017 Carl Worgan. All rights reserved.

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