What's Forgotten...

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Lavelia
Posts: 52
Joined: Sun Jul 10, 2016 4:23 pm
Location: Columbus, Ga

What's Forgotten...

Postby Lavelia » Mon Oct 03, 2016 11:00 pm

An old man stares at his twin grandsons that sit before him, "I have a story for you boys," his voice whispers out softly. He watches as they lean forward, move in closer, to better hear him. Once they are settled he begins with, "Time passes. This fact does not change and can not be altered; it is a simple truth," noting that he now had their undivided attention he stares down at them gravely.

One of the boys piped up, "we move forward, marching to time's passing," in a sing-song voice as though it were something they learned, "and the Gods lead us forward, ever forward."

Smiling down at them approvingly the old man nods, "correct. But this story I will tell begins a very long time ago," he gestures and a picture forms in the palms of his hands for the children to watch, "in this place."

Appropriately they ooh and ahh over the illusion forming in their grandfather's hands and then settle more firmly into place, ready for this story...as they were with all of his stories. Sometimes they were funny, sometimes they were scary, and sometimes they were informative. So they waited, expectantly, for him to begin.

"People live. Their lives are both meaningful, and meaningless, depending upon the view point of the person and the people around them. In only one way do we all become equals in life, and that is through death, boys. We live the best that we can, care for our families, protect our homes and villages. But where do those that pass go once they are dead? To the cemeteries, given to back to the land, to Ciruin in a final moment's time," the images in his hands flicker and a place begins to form as he speaks, "when we're gone we are mourned and in time we fade from our family's minds."

A small, but well built chapel appears in the image being projected within his hands. Made of stone it is a strong structure and people bustle in and out of it as his voice whispers out, wrapping around the boys and drawing them in, "many people come and go from the small chapel at the entrance to the cemetery. One of those is a relative of ours. One of unparallelled kindness and beauty," the young woman took form, her blonde hair flowing down her back, "her uncle had perished recently. His name has been forgotten, now, but he was special to her and very much loved. So she trekked to the cemetery every day to be close to him, to mourn his passing in peace.

She would spend most of her time in this chapel," and the image shifted to the interior which was quite lovely, though the boys were more impressed with the magic than the interior of the chapel itself. Along the walls were beautifully crafted candelabras that burned with a soft light and the pews were well made and in them the young woman sat, head bowed in mourning, "every day, like clockwork, she came. And every single day the Priest," another image formed of a relatively young man dressed in an ancient priestly robe, "was there to greet her and offer her a shoulder to cry upon should she have a need.

She would merely decline with a shake of her head before returning to quietly mourning. One day her mother came to the chapel," an older woman with graying hair arrived at the chapel and entered, "and spoke to the priest. What she said is now lost to time's passing but it was this visit that decided her daughter's fate, and perhaps, the fate of the cemetery itself."

The boys eyes sparkled with curiosity, "how, grandpa?" They asked whilst wriggling their bodies as they waited for his response.

He chuckled softly, "now, now, calm down and I'll tell you," he waited until their excited movements stopped and they settled down before continuing, "Josephine's mother left before she arrived. She was unaware of her mother's visit to the kindly priest," in the image the older woman bustled out of the room quickly and not long after, Josephine arrived. She sat down in the pew she normally sat at, "like normal she sat in the pew and bowed her head in a mourning prayer. But today was different. Today the priest approached her and whispered in her ear. No one in the family is alive now that remembers the exact words he used, but she stood soon after and walked down the stairs and into the mausoleum."

They watched her go down the stairs in the illusion but the image did not change to follow her. The old man sighed and continued, "what happened down there is unknown. She came out much happier than she was when she entered. She was nearly back to her old self! The next day her mother came to the priest to thank him and then was gone again before her daughter arrived.

Every day this happened. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and after a year Josephine was still coming to the chapel and going down those stairs into the mausoleum that housed the family's crypts."

Pausing dramatically he shook his head, "but something was happening to the cemetery. The priest was using his own power to hide it from the people, to contain the problem, on orders from the church itself the storys tell," the image changed, turned into the beautiful cemetery. It was well cared for, the headstones beautifully crafted, and statues stood in sections, honoring the Gods. Slowly a fog began to cover the cemetery and it grew darker, "spirits were rising up and walking the cemetery," his voice grew darker to reflect the change to the story, "and at first the priest managed to contain it, hide it from the people. But he could not convince Josephine to stop going down to visit her family's crypt.

He knew it was only a matter of time before the mausoleum became effected. She was stubborn though, and continued anyways, not understanding the reason why she couldn't," in the image time passed until winter fell over the land surrounding the chapel. The figure of Josephine plodded up to and into the chapel. She bowed her head in prayer for a moment before heading down those stairs. The old man whispered out, "she never returned. Men went down to search for her and they, too, never returned. People who went into the cemetery began to be harmed and shortly thereafter the people stopped coming.

Only the faithful undertaker stayed to care for the cemetery and graves. Josephine's mother, eaten by guilt, never set foot out of that chapel ever again."

One of the boys asked, "what about the priest?"

"Some believe he is still there, but no one really knows," he stated quietly as he stared down at his grandchildren, "with the passage of time the telling of this has, most likely, smudged the details of this old piece of family history."

The other boy shouted out, "what about the cemetery? Can't we go see for ourselves?"

With a shake of his head, their grandfather stated quietly, "no one remembers where this cemetery is located, children, and even if we did know...only the bravest of warriors would go there. It is said that the faithful undertaker fell to whatever the cemetery harbors and he prowls it, searching for any who would trespass."

Straightening, he shook out his hands and the image faded away and the magic that held them vanished, "it's bedtime now, boys," and standing he exited the room, leading his grandsons away.

User avatar
Folder
Posts: 1076
Joined: Wed Jul 27, 2016 9:04 am
Location: Texas

Re: What's Forgotten...

Postby Folder » Tue Oct 04, 2016 3:04 pm

Cool story, I liked it :)
<Silhouette>

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Lavelia
Posts: 52
Joined: Sun Jul 10, 2016 4:23 pm
Location: Columbus, Ga

Re: What's Forgotten...

Postby Lavelia » Thu Oct 06, 2016 9:13 pm

Folder wrote:Cool story, I liked it :)



^_^ thanks!


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