Day 80 Writing Short Stories

Child Of The Gods

I was once a child of the gods. Their blessing walked with me every step of the way. The others treated me as holy, and I never had to worry about food and shelter. Such was to be the child of the gods. But then you grow old, and they cast you aside as your mind can no longer grasp the divine thought. They drive you out of the temple and leave you on the streets like a common beggar. Not all. The noble children get to go home, and they are anointed for their service to the temple and the kingdom.

That was not my fate. I was a child of nothing, and I returned to nothing. Once the voices are gone, the meaninglessness of one becomes obvious and permeating.

And thus ends my story. So I thought. So all around me thought as I stole my bread and slept in the back alleys, still remembering those luscious silk beds made from the brightest colors the temple could afford. I could still see the red, the gold, and the pink woven into the fabrics. I could still smell the rosewater, cedar wood, and the bitter incense governing every hall, every study, every chamber.

That was not here. Not in the back alley where I fought with the rats and the pigeons for the remainder of the baker’s bread. The stench of the garbage and waste stung my eyes and attacked my nostrils. But I won the last piece of thrown-out stale bread and ran from the storming wave of rats as they lost their prized food.

I dashed between the narrow alleys, avoiding those who didn’t see me, and hid behind a small fence separating an old house from the rising city around it. The walls, the shops, the houses, and the guilds had taken over every inch of the kingdom, pushing the common folk aside. I leaned against the stones of the building, darting my eyes to the backyard and its door and to the alley where I had come, waiting to be interrupted as I sank my teeth into the hardened bread. I hadn’t eaten for a whole day, and while the bread broke my gums, grating them raw, I couldn’t stop eating. With every bite, I was sure that something would come and stop me from enjoying my luxurious meal. I forced myself not to think about the lamb slowly cooked in herbs and rich sauces and how the meat melted in my mouth. But the rich meals with baked potatoes and saffron rice came back, and the bread that had now bloodied my mouth dropped from my hand.

I watched my hands as they rebelled against the only meal I would get today, and licked my lips, tasting the iron.

“I curse you, gods. You let unholy men rule this kingdom and the hearts of its people, and you call yourselves just. I served you, and this is how you pay me,” I shouted, not caring if anyone would find me trespassing.

“I curse you gods, and from now on I will not let you dictate my fate. I will bring you down, and the kingdom with it.”

“That’s a good start.”

The reply startled me. I jumped up and searched for the source of the voice. I saw an old woman sitting on the back porch by the door that had just been empty.

“Good, good, good… You can finally see me,” the old woman said. Her crooked nose shook along with her words.

“What…?”

“What am I? That’s a good question, girl. You can think of me as your revenge or as the others know me: the old one, the boned spirit, the revenge sister, the sorrow, the mother, the crone. And I will guide you, and you won’t ever have to fight for your food with the rats.”

“I won’t take another god, nor will I do anyone else’s bidding.”

“I’m no god. Gods are for books. I’m older than that child. I’m the stories. I’m the spirit, and there won’t be another chance for you. It’s this or back to the alleys.”

“Why would stories and spirits need me?”

“Aren’t you a suspicious one—”

“Better than a fool…” I left out the last part, thinking back to the time I was taken to the temple for the first time. I had cried as they robbed me of my mother’s arms. She had to look away as the men held me in place as I tried to claw free of their clutches.

“Yes, better than a fool. I cannot promise that you won’t be a clever dead one soon, but I can promise you’ll get your revenge, and that’s what I want. I want the temples gone and the city back.”

I snarled at the old crone.

“I take that as a yes.”

—

I was sure nothing would come out of this. I had no idea where I was going. I just had the idea of a child of the gods; then she became a beggar, and the old crone came and gave the story meaning.

I had fun writing this one. What I got today was a voice-driven, first-person fantasy tragedy.

Thank you for reading! Have a day of old spirits ❤