I've been challenged to write a short story a week. This week was fable. Let me know if you think this is too cliche, or if it needs more dialog.
She died today.
It wasn’t your ordinary death, one minute she was here, the next she was, well, someplace else. She didn’t get hit by a bus, driven out of her shoes, both of them still sitting one step down from the sidewalk into the street. Her feet still firmly planted on the Earth in her shoes, the sun still shining in her face, the slight breeze from the bus passing blowing her hair back.
This was a different death. It was a quick death, something most people don’t notice until it was too late. They always say tell your loved ones how you feel before you die, how many know when they are going to die? Is there a little voice in your head whispering, “Hey listen, you’re going to die May 24th at 6:57pm, have you talked to your family lately!”
She never heard a voice, there was no warning. One minute the person she knew so well existed, the next minute that person was gone. It happened in seconds, never recovered back. No blood, no guts, no weeping or gnashing of teeth (Looking back, she remembered people looking at her saying, “You’ve changed.”) it was quiet, it was deliberate, and it was done.
She passed quickly, without fanfare. No one noticed, she was just a small spec in the scheme of humanity, moving quickly into oblivion. Her death came at the hands of another, their moves calculating. They knew exactly what inflicts the most harm, how to exit quickly, leave no trace. Her death came from words. Words, like a strong knife, slicing deep. quickly reaching heart. It beat several times, slowly, wondering if it should continue, before stopping for a minute. It was a long minute, a life changing minute before her heart started up again, completely different from 60 seconds before.
The death was not physical, it wasn’t even fantastic, it just simply happened. She was there one minute, genuinely there, then gone the next. Someone else stood in her shoes, next to that curb, looking around with new eyes wondering, what happened? She looked exactly the same, even walking with the same sore hip flexor limp, something was different, changed.
The small child in her that believed in goodness, that believed most people mean well, died that day. The words, spoken by someone she respected, uttered under their breath, meant for her, cut quick. She felt every stab of the 5 words, the person whispering them not seeing the pain on her face. Death coming quick, surprised, then calm and finally acceptance. She had the same blue eyes, brown hair, the same smudge of dirt on her cheek, except something was different. Her innocence died quickly, cynicism written on her face. Her eyes full of new knowledge, and face hard as she let that small innocence child drift away in murky waters of indifference.
The person uttering those words, was never charged with a crime. She went calmly on with her life, not realizing death happened right next to her, not feeling the subtle change in the universe making everyone else reel. She let the words fly, without filter, telling herself that she was justified in her criticism, that her words were truth. They were what that little girl needed to hear, the words would whip her into shape, make her aspire to be better, right? Were her words truth to that little girl? No, they were lies said to justify some belief, a belief that only the woman understood, a belief others had tried changing her mind, giving up. She was closed. If you looked at her closely, you’d see the ugliness her words etched on her face as she said them, how they affected her. She looked smaller than the child standing next to her, even if the child’s head did come up to her breast. She shrank even more as she whispered each word.
The death of her innocence was a sad one. She was replaced with a cynical adult, someone taking compliments from that moment forward with a grain of salt, wondering if what the person saying was real, or just fabricated like all the other adults in her life. That child turned into an adult traveling through life never holding a funeral for her lost child, never mourning, simply believing that life must go on, that she must go on. As an adult, she killed a few more innocent children along her way, imitating the person who killed her, and like that woman from so long ago, not realizing her words had weight, that they could kill. It was a snowball effect, the bodies piling up all from those 5 words spoken years ago. The innocent child died that day, becoming who she swore she'd never emulate,she became her.
With every death in life, there is a birth, a renewal of the cycle. This woman thought that all was dead to her, she lost that child the day she died. She met someone new in her life, someone who made her feel good about herself. That person did something no one had done in many years, she said something nice, frank and full of sincerity. That small child inside of her opened her eyes, and for the first time in many years, actually believed her.
With that belief, birth came back into her life, bringing with it new life. This was not a painful birth, like the death so long ago, it was a matter of fact birth - no fanfare, no screaming and gnashing of teeth in labor, just one minute there was a blank space, the next and idea. This idea, born out of her long lost innocence, rediscovered. She took that infant, marveled at how perfect it was, how beautiful, not realizing it was related to the child she left for slaughter. She brought that idea to her breast and held it close, not sharing it with anyone. This was hers, no one would take it away from her. With the acceptance of her new friend, and the baby of an idea, she transformed herself. Some friends wondered if she’d finally lost her mind, dropping many of them from her life with no explanation. Their death came at her new acceptance of herself, she had time for this baby, she wasn’t taking time for destruction.
Busy caring for that infant, nurturing it, she watched it grow until the child was almost as high as her breast. Looking at her with those innocent eyes, waiting. She thought about those five words heard so many years ago, looking down at the child she was filled with the urge to say them. But she didn’t want blood on her hands, she did what someone should have done so many years ago.
She held her tongue.
And that child blossomed. It grew taller than her, it fed her with new ideas and she blossomed. She did things she never thought she’d do. She let the world meet that child, become friends with her, learn from her mistakes. In the end the girl grew into the amazing woman she wanted to be.
The woman then held the hand of the child, now grown up and went back to that moment she died. She went back to that person who made the comment, she presented herself, together and whole and told them the story of her death, every detail complete.
That person was astounded. She did not realize her words were heard, that they cut so deep, she’d pretty much forgotten saying them. She looked at the woman, told her that she shouldn’t be so sensitive and continued down her same path, a little shorter in stature, but still walking with a purpose and a limp.
This time there was no blood, there was no screaming or gnashing of teeth because that little girl, grown from infant to adulthood simply looked at the woman walking away from them and laughed. They both held hands, walking the other way, not aware of the other children following close behind.
