The Sole Traveller

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
The importance of Home and Travels

Submitted: August 05, 2014

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Submitted: August 05, 2014

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The Sole Traveller

 

The Sole Traveller had begun his travels so long ago, he barely remembered when exactly had he commenced his journey. For him, he had always been a nomad, wandering from one place to another.

He could not recall the last place he had named Home. He had long ago found a place unlike any other. This place had been his sanctuary and had been the only place where The Sole Traveller remained longer than any other part of land or sea. If he closes his eyes and concentrates on the essence of that place, he could remember what it felt like to have a place to call his own. If he focused really hard, he could remember what it smelt like. And if he really probed his memory to its depths, he could feel the touch of that place. But only if he tried with all his might, which he had long ago decided not to. For recalling that picture made his heart weep, and when his heart wept, his eyes went blank and were unable to see the beauty that lay in front of him as they were reminiscing the past that was no longer there.

The Sole Traveller travelled on his lonesome. He had only once formed an alliance with another. However, the wandering souls had parted before their time, vowing to cross paths once more to undiscovered places. This separation had also left scars on the Traveller’s heart, which was not ready to say goodbye. The Traveller had thence avoided walking hand in hand. He chose then, to shake as many hands as he could, but never hold onto them for too long, he feared his heart may not survive another turbulence.

 

He had seen wonders in his time. He felt the desert’s heat that emptied his body of its water, he had felt the North’s freezing embrace. He had tasted the spices of the East, he had admired the colours of the West. He had travelled land by means of animals, men, and machines. He had travelled seas, where the ground below his feet was unsteady.

He came across the vast palette of diverse cultures, and immersed himself to each of them.  He had meditated among monks in the solitary mountains, had fasted during the Holy month. He had celebrated Cherry Blossoms, he had danced to the sound of Mandolins. He had witnessed unions celebrated by breaking plates, he had witnessed them by stealing shoes. He had buried bodies of friends in cloth while burned others to ashes. Among the differences, he had observed similarities as well. He saw the same joys on births of new-borns and felt the heartbreaks when a loved one departed. He heard the same laughter of children and remarked the same giggles of schoolgirls. He observed the same sparkle in newlyweds’ eyes and the same nostalgia in those of older men.

 

He had now reached the end of his life, he could feel it slipping slowly away. He could not help but shed a tear, for he had nothing to hold onto. He was about to leave behind the world he roamed with passion. And so he began to pray to the Gods he had come to know and love. He prayed they take him back to the place he once called Home. He hoped to once more feel the warmth of his companion who’s body rested on that same land, to once more feel the soft touch of her fingers, and exchange a glance worth a thousand words. The Sole Traveller let his heart and mind open itself to that one memory, the one he longed to go back to, the one he had safely kept in the corners of his mind, waiting for the right time to unveil it and finally let it consume him.

 

 

YM


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