Wasted Wish; Temple of Faith.

Temple of Faith.

It was a quiet place, atop that mountain, and the snow fell in soft patterns. Drifting down, like fallen angels, cushioning the world, and insulating even further, darker, wider, the silence. It was the silence of deep and never ending, of never again, and maybe never at all. The infinite ultimate. Death. And the white snow fell, and landed on the bloodied ground, and shaded a warm, rosy pink, as if he world shyly blushed at such a sacrifice.

Rocks, dirt, and green twigs pried beneath his fingernails, and the face of the mountain cut rough gouges into his pink palms. Terren wasn't made for climbing, but then, what eight year old boy was? Yes, of course, trees and hills succumbed to his childish energy, but this, a mountain, was man's work. He worried his chapped lip, reminding himself, he now was a man. And men didn't cry. Sill, tears ran his cheeks. Its only the cold he told himself.
His mother, father, brother, and sister were dead. The plague claimed them, and nearly the whole village; why hadn't it claimed him too? He was the youngest and weakest. His Brother, Trand, eldest and browned from the sun, had proven a mighty warrior. At 19 winters he had already earned five scars across his chest. Terren could still smell the burning flesh and see the pain hidden beneath his brother's proud smile. the plague ate the muscles from his bones. His sister Terra, was beautiful--Was! Before she was finished, she lay on their floor, so ugly maggots wouldn't touch her.
His Mother and Father . . .
. . . and new tears rand down his plump, oval face.
"Please, my little Karyoo," was the last thing his mother had said to him.
My little Karyoo, he repeated it in his mind. It was what she had always called him, and why she whispered he was special. His father, wise and revered, his brother broad and strong, his sister so beautiful the sun rose in the sky each morning just to see her, and him, homely, small, pink and plump. But he was special, he was the Karyoo: a word from the native tongue--the Carrier of Wishes. And thats why the plague had left him untouched.

So. With wet cheeks, and pink hands, and the fortitude of a man, he carried his wish to the top of a mountain.

It had been days, and weeks, and when he turned to look down, the world became dizzy and spun, the mountain slick and treacherous. So he no longer turned to look down. Instead he looked up. The sun was a lifeless, sad, object in the sky. How many more days would it mourn his sister's death before eternal night prevailed? Already it chose to give off no heat, and took shorter turns between the moons.
Soft snowflakes fell, drifting down like broken dreams.
Terren pushed on. His feet were frozen inside their well-wrapped boots. His fingers were slightly blue, much less dexterious than when he started, and no longer hurt. All of which worried him. His nose was a creek, and it froze upon his upper lip. He imagined it must look like two icicles hung beneath his eyes from all the tears, it didn't. Simply two small, frozen streaks was all.
He wanted to give up. "Please, my little Karyoo." He kept climbing, carrying his wish to the top of the mountain. It was an impossible journey for any man, and twice as impossible for any eight year old boy. Surely, an soon, he would be another icy corpse. Once, when sitting in his mother's warm lap, enjoying the tribes warm fire, and holding his father's warm hand, he had heard the tribe cheiftain-drunk on bloodwine-say: the only way to reach the top of the mountain was to WAIT! A hundred winters, a thousand winters. When so many had tried, they would be a ladder of frozen, dead corpses. That was three winter's passed, and Terren had only seen five corpses so far. Surely, he would die. But, no. He was special.
So without food, without water, without warmth, and eight year old boy carried a wish to the top of a mountain.

Numb, he stood outside the giant Iron Doors, his eyes feasting upon the miracle that was the Temple of Faith. Through the wonder and the cold, he had the sense to not understand how such a thing could be built at such a place. He looked down, and the world was not dizzy or drunk, it simply was not. A cloud wrapped "God's Mountian" like god's own hands, and where it dipped and the snow rose, one could barely discern.
It was quiet . . . no, it was silent.
A hand that was once pink, but was now blue, touched the doors, without a sound they opened. Frozen feet propelled Terren forward,
Strange, there were no monks.
Aimlessly he wondered. He thought to call out, but something warned agianst it. Through a door, through a door, through a door, he moved.
As the sun crept down, hazy amongst the cloud, the snow looked pink. In some places deep red like blood. Terren felt the chill of the eve settle into his bones. Suddenly, he no longer felt a child.
Through another door, and he found an open air arena . . . and the shallow face of a corpse.
The Monk's body was a deep, rich tan, a souvenier of some warmer, brighter place. His bald head and sunken face were etched with scars--most likely a souveneir from this place. His eyes were two empty sockets, his only clothing; dried blood and wet blood, and a tattered supplice that made young Terren very self-conscious, and very aware that was NOT yet a man.
The dead monk rose, his eyeless face starring straight through the young Karyoo.
Now, Terren noticed the other monks. Their dismembered bodies and crushed skulls. The deep red pools of blood, slowly diffusing to pink as the snow softly drifted down, like a burial. He noticed how none of them had eyes, and he noticed the white jelly-like substance that coated the standing warriors hands and feet.
"Hello," the monk almost friendly.
"H-hello," Terren sounded terrified. "Y-your eyes, what happened . . . ?" It felt strange to talk, unreal after so many days alone on the mountain.
"The vultures took them."
"Do you miss them?" asked Terren on impulse.
"Why should i mourn the loss of two less liars in this world"
"Oh," Terren was walking, or moving, or spinning, or dancing. He was afraid. This was not what he had expected. Not what he had Imagined. "I don't understand," finally he said. "This is the Temple of Faith, where wishes--"
"Forgotten Faith," broke the monk.
"--come true . . "
"Yes, so it was," agreed the monk. The snow continued to fall, heavier now, and his dark brown ankles made a complaint of contrast to the bone white snow. It occured to Terren that must have been setting qutie some time in that single spot.
"Are you waiting?"
"For you. Have you brought me a wish?"
I wish my family were still alive, that the plauge had never hit, that I had never climbed this mountain and seen these things I cannot unsee. I wish I were just an eight year old boy, and that I had never met you. All these things he thought, but was too scared to say.
A deep, steadying breath.
Please, my little Karyoo, he heard his mother say. And in a tremulous voice he quivered, "I wish to have my family," but he stopped, and thought, because it wasn't quite right.
"And so you shall, little Karyoo," the monk, who some have taken to call by the name of Wasted Wish, grabbed the boy and flung him from the mountain. To his death. Where surely, he would once again have his family.
And all was silent, once more.

 

OWNED!!!!!!! /forums/images/%%GRAEMLIN_URL%%/laugh.gif I loved reading that though.

 

Well he did give him his wish and didn't hesitate to do it either.

 

Nice writing skills, a little dark, but entertaining nonetheless.

 

I need some of that Lei Fei weed. Crazy story right there.........Or is it real /forums/images/%%GRAEMLIN_URL%%/shocked.gif

 

Did you write that SMB?

That short story is very descriptive and well written. It's also punctuated very well to relay a certain feeling and timing to the reader.

I like it very much.

 

!

thats a pretty fuckin sad story..

ther were typos in there but other then that great story.

 

thanks guys

yeah, i wrote it, but obviously failed to proof read lol.

 

The family was killed by my alter-ego, the Plauge.

 

ThePlagueBegins?

 

No lol, the plauge haven't you ever heard about it? You know, the crazy side of Plague where he makes people uncomfortable and sometimes he is in that state while playing VF and his + output triples and his TE efficiency quadruples, it's quite deadly actually.