Day 91 Writing Short Stories

Jars Of Happiness

Golden light cast sparkles over the water, playing across the surface. His boat broke the lines of light, piercing the water deep. He followed the golden color deeper past the ancient trees that draped over the water, forming a tunnel over the serpentine rivers. In here, time stood still. It didn’t rush as it did back where there was civilization and rationality. Over the rivers and in the light, there was more to live than counting.

He was here to bottle that sense of peace, and sell it to those who needed the rush of existence to yield. He was the harvester of magic, of spirit, peddling happiness. The little glass jars rattled behind him as he rowed the boat.

The water underneath him stirred. He stopped the boat and took a small, sharp letter opener from his pocket. He cut the tip of his finger, drawing blood. He dropped the blood into the water.

“Here is my blood, here is my due. I bind myself to you. Let me pass.”

The bubbles died, and the Sylvian keepers let him and the boat pass.

He never took more than was necessary, and never more than once a month. Awe needed its recuperation. Awe was what gave life its meaning; it was what made time stand still. It was in the golden light, in rare moments, in nature, in art, in a bird’s melody, in a movement that made the body flow in harmony with itself and the forces governing it. Here in the Sylvan forest, that awe poured into the world; into him, making his heart stop every time the golden light took him in and showed how everything sparkled emerald green and sapphire blue; showed him that it was the moment that made magic.

—

I find it hard to write magical realism. I’m never sure where the line between fantasy and magical realism stops. And if I succeed in creating a magical realism story, I usually find it hard to turn it into a full-length story with a plot. Magical realism is easier for me as moments in time.

What I got today was a contemporary magical realism story about rags-to-riches done in first person. I couldn’t write it the way the assignment dictated. He was easier to incorporate into the story than I. Contemporary didn’t want to exist at all. It rarely does when I write.

I’m not going hiking today. The weather is being temperamental. But it is okay; I still get to spend the day in nature and maybe experience a sense of awe.

Thank you for reading! Have a magical day and see you tomorrow ❤