Chapter 11: The Last Reflection
The weight of loneliness pressed down on Elias, an invisible burden that grew heavier with each passing day. He wandered the cleansed world, a ghost in a garden, a solitary figure in a symphony of nature. The vibrant beauty that surrounded him only served to highlight his isolation. He longed for a connection, a shared glance, a familiar voice – a reminder that he was not alone in the vast expanse of existence.
He traversed continents, his footsteps echoing in the silent forests and across the empty plains. The animals, once his guides and companions, now simply watched him with curious eyes, unable to bridge the chasm that separated their world from his. The wind whispered secrets through the tall grasses, the rivers sang their ancient songs, but none of them spoke to his soul.
One day, as he walked along the shores of what had once been a great city, a flash of light caught his eye. It was a small, bright glimmer in the distance, reflecting the sun with an intensity that seemed out of place in the natural landscape. Intrigued, Elias made his way towards it, his heart quickening with a flicker of something he hadn't felt in a long time: curiosity.
As he drew closer, the glimmer resolved itself into a shape, a rectangle of smooth, polished material. It was a mirror, standing upright on a patch of bare earth, as if it had been placed there deliberately. The frame, once ornate, was now weathered and worn, but the reflective surface remained strangely pristine, untouched by the passage of time.
Elias stared at the mirror, his breath catching in his throat. It was a relic of the old world, a fragment of the human existence that had been swept away by the Song of the Turning. He had seen no other trace of humanity in all his travels, no artifacts, no remnants of their civilization. Why had this one object survived? What strange twist of fate had preserved this single reflection of a vanished world?
He approached cautiously, his footsteps slow and hesitant. The mirror seemed to pulse with a faint energy, a subtle vibration that resonated with the ancient power that still flowed through the land. As he stood before it, his own image stared back at him, a gaunt and weary figure with haunted eyes and a long, tangled beard. He barely recognized himself.
He gazed into the depths of the reflection, searching for some trace of the man he had once been. But all he saw was a stranger, a solitary wanderer lost in a world that was both beautiful and desolate. The mirror reflected not only his physical appearance but also his inner state, his profound loneliness, his aching sense of loss.
A strange thought began to form in his mind, a chilling certainty that resonated with the deepest part of his being. The mirror had survived for a reason. It was not a random artifact, a chance survivor of the cleansing. It was a sign, a message, a final piece of the puzzle.
He remembered the dream he had had at the beginning of his journey, the overwhelming presence that had guided him, the sense of a grand design unfolding. He had thought that his purpose was to cleanse the world, to erase the scars of human civilization and restore the earth to its primal state. But now, standing before this mirror, he realized that there was more to the design than he had understood.
The song, he realized, was not just about cleansing the world of humanity, but also about cleansing the world from humanity's lingering presence. And that presence, he now understood, resided within him. He was the last echo of a vanished species, the final note in a song that had swept away an entire era.
The mirror, he realized, was not just a reflection of his image; it was a gateway, a threshold. It was a way for the world to complete its transformation, to erase the last trace of the human stain. And he, Elias, was the key.
A sense of profound sadness washed over him, but it was mingled with a strange sense of peace, a feeling of acceptance. He had wandered the world, he had witnessed its rebirth, and now, he understood his final purpose. He was the end of the song.
He raised his hands, his voice trembling as he began to sing. The Song of the Turning flowed through him, a melody of sorrow and release, of ending and beginning. He sang to the mirror, his voice growing stronger with each verse, his song resonating with the ancient power of the earth.
As he sang, his reflection in the mirror began to shimmer, to dissolve. His form flickered and faded, like a candle flame in a strong wind. The mirror pulsed with light, and the air around him crackled with energy.
He sang until the last note faded, until the last echo of his voice died away. And then, he was gone.
The mirror remained, standing alone on the bare earth, reflecting the pristine beauty of the cleansed world. The sun shone upon its surface, the wind whispered around its edges, and the animals of the forest regarded it with curiosity, their eyes gleaming with a newfound intelligence.
Time passed, measured not in human years but in the slow, patient rhythm of the earth. The forest grew, reclaiming the land around the mirror, surrounding it with a tapestry of green. The animals thrived, their lives unfolding in a world of harmony and balance.
One day, a beaver, its fur sleek and dark, its eyes bright and alert, came upon the mirror. It had never seen anything like it before, this smooth, shining surface that reflected the world around it with such clarity. The beaver tilted its head, studying the strange object with intense focus.
Driven by an instinct it could not explain, the beaver nudged the mirror with its nose, then carefully dragged it towards its lodge, a cozy home built of logs and mud, nestled in the heart of the forest. The beaver placed the mirror inside, positioning it so that it reflected the entrance to the lodge, bringing the outside world into its home.
The mirror remained in the beaver's lodge, a silent witness to the life of the forest. It reflected the changing seasons, the passage of time, the endless cycle of birth, death, and renewal. It became a part of the fabric of the world, a reminder of the past, a symbol of the earth's enduring beauty.
The world was clean again. The oceans teemed with life, the forests stretched to the horizon, and the animals ruled the earth. The Song of the Turning had been sung, the cleansing was complete, and the world was finally, utterly, and irrevocably reborn.
Quite the story. I was hoping Elias would meet his Eve and they could say no to the apple. But that would be too predictable.
ReplyDeleteI need you to autograph my copy when you’re in Wannaska Land
What?! Who would want to predict saying no to a caramel candy coated apple?!
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