6
Aug
My first Friday Flash in two months. Rather glad to be back to it.
I wept. It was a waste of water, but all the same, I wept. My tears hit the body of my wife, warm only because of the midday sun. She had fallen victim to desert fever and mirages, and we had searched for her, only to find her too late. And so I wept, while the others around me, faces shielded against the heat and light, kept a respectful distance.
My wife was the fifth we had lost to the desert on this great trek of ours. Three had gone in like manner, crazed by the terrain and the lack of sustenance, and fled out into the desert, seeking miracles. No miracles were ever found. The last had the misfortune to irritate a sunbathing snake, and that death was swift and agonizing, the venom turning limbs black as it coursed through the blood.
We were here because we had been chased from our land, our ancestral home. A great plague, of men and disease both, had swept over us, slaying our kind and forcing us to flee in front of the flood. I use the term men loosely, for these were foul creatures, humanoid and possessed of some of the features of men, but hideous and foul and lupine in appearance, and as they strode forth, their very essence befouled the land upon which they stood, and crops withered, and trees rotted, and so even if we, true men, had stood and fought, there would be no sustenance, no life for us.
And so we fled across the desert, hoping that its great expanse and relentless heat would make of it a shield against the foulness that washed up against its borders. And it did. We lost many on that trek, perhaps a third of our people, but on the other side of that barren land we found a new home, a land of wet greenery and freely flowing water, and we laid out our sacred city once more, and built it anew from wood and from wattle. We lost more to disease as we adapted to that land, but our people’s prosperity and fecundity soon strengthened our kind.
We became a great nation once more, with more cities being chosen and erected, and trade in all manner of devices and precious materials flowing between our great edifices. And I have grown old here, old and decrepit, but I am honoured, as are all those who led our people across the desert wastes. And so I spend my days reliving the past, telling stories, being wise, and enjoying the warm summer sun as it heats my frail body. It is a good life, and one I have enjoyed.
Today, the city packs its belongings and manufactures carts and wagons and rafts, for we are to scatter once more. Our shield desert has turned black with the countless multitudes of the crawling plague, and we flee before them once more.
Comments
Leave a Reply
John Wiswell on 08.06.2010
How bad is it that I thought this would have a twist ending that tied into Oregon Trail? I’m that sort of thinker. I like it as it is – would hate to live it, but a few paragraphs of visiting worked well. Barren land and travel.
Timothy P. Remp on 08.06.2010
Moses he is not. This was a very good story with creative twist and turns. Thank you for posting.
-Tim
Maria Kelly on 08.06.2010
Good one An interesting tale of tragedy and exile. Very haunting.
“We were here because we had been chased from our land, our ancestral home. A great plague, of men and disease both, had swept over us, slaying our kind and forcing us to flee in front of the flood. ”
Great line.
T.S. Bazelli on 08.06.2010
Great to see you back again! This story had such a sad sweeping feel to it, of tragedies of the past, echoed in the present. Well done!
Adam Byatt on 08.06.2010
I was grabbed by the first line; the desire to weep and mourn yet knowing it is a fruitless exercise. Wonderful, strong imagery.
Adam B @revhappiness
Gracie on 08.06.2010
I’m glad you’re back, too. Been missing you round here. 🙂
And this is why– your writing that feels like cherished ancient myth. This is a chilling story, told the way a beloved grandfather would tell it. The imagery and the horror they are running from is vivid and rich.
Excellent story, and welcome back.
The Four Part Land on 08.06.2010
Sorry to disappoint, but there are no Oregon Trail references in this story. Although that was a great game to play.
Bits and pieces that I can point to as references include the still suits of dune (wasting water), native americans being forced off their land, and the way people fled the plague in europe. And the new cities they build are sort of Mayan.
Oddly, moses never showed up in my thought process. But the group in the first paragraph was actually thought if as much smaller than the whole people. Originally it was a few people fleeing, not a whole country, but the larger scope seemed to work better.
Alison Wells on 08.07.2010
Really enjoyed this, great quality of writing and I liked the ending which was a nice movement from the inital finale. The image of the black desert crawling was really effective. Oh yes and the ‘I wept, it was a waste of water but all the same I wept’ hit me. Terrific.
mazzz in Leeds on 08.07.2010
“I wept. It was a waste of water, but all the same, I wept.” – I love how that works literally as well as figuratively.
I enjoyed the narrator’s painful journey (well, in a reader way rather than a sadist way, of course!)
One minor critique, if you want it – 3rd para, 3rd sentence, runs a bit long, maybe split it into two?
Marisa Birns on 08.30.2010
So glad there is no twist ending. Just the continual cycle of death and rebirth. Wonderful.