Microfiction: The Hymn of the Pearl, by Lauren P. Burka
The Hymn of the Pearl
by Lauren P. Burka
Sunset raked the dirt-streaked windows, spilling colors of blood and fire into the stairwell. The man warmed his toes in the receding pools of light. He had no clothes but a thin, white shift that shielded neither his skin from the cold nor his buttocks from the steel and concrete stair. During the previous three days he had eaten nothing, drank only sips of water, and was denied sleep by drums and rattles. Mind and body had come uncoupled. He could not remember his name.
Neon light replaced the vanished sun filtered through the windows, but the colors were the same.
A candle flame cut the reddened dark of the stairwell and outlined the form of the illuminated messenger. He wore a hooded robe over his shift and a knotted cord over both. His bare feet made no sound. The candle flame dipped, acknowledging the neophyte, who rose to follow his messenger down the stairs. So many stairs. No elevators were permitted on this trip to the underworld. Small creatures and noises populated the shadows, as if hell’s attendant monsters and fiends encroached, restrained only by the candle flame.
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Mirrored from Circlet Press: Welcome to Circlet 2.0.