Monday, January 3, 2022

Microstory 1791: First Reflection

I’ve always known that I was born a voldisil, but I’ve never had any special gift. For most of my life, I lived during a time when my kind could only be ourselves in secret. We didn’t tell anyone what we were, or what we could do. We weren’t out in the open until a man with the ability to heal felt he had to go public to save as many people as possible. Some of us weren’t happy about it, but I always admired his bravery. As I watched the news talk about him, and suggest there were others like him, I wondered whether I would finally find out what I could do. It didn’t happen. I lived the last couple years of my life without a purpose; at least in the voldisil way, that is. It’s only this last moment that I have finally figured out who I am. According to current statistics, about a hundred people die in the world every single minute of every single day. As I lay dying, the histories of each of these fallen strangers are flooding my brain. We’re not dead yet, but I just know that these are the people who are on their way out with me. If there is something on the other side of the death barrier, then the hundred of us will cross that threshold together. It is overwhelming and inspiring. Get something to record this, because I only have a couple of hours to live. I will be spending my last breaths on telling you these people’s stories in first person perspective. They’ve been through a lot. For some, their time has come, but for others, it is tragic and unfair. In the future, scientists will synthesize the healer’s abilities, and create a panacea, but until then, this is life. It always ends, and I am no exception. I shall begin this series with my own story.

Since I didn’t seemingly have any special abilities, my life was fairly normal and mundane. I really liked to paint, but I was never particularly good at it, and even if I had been, I don’t think I would have wanted to translate it into a career of any kind. I like for people to see my art, because I think it’s something that should be enjoyed, but I don’t need them to pay me, and I don’t need to become famous. I made a living working as a groundskeeper at a cemetery. You know, no one is really sure what makes a volidisil a voldisil. No one has been able to study them until recently, because we had not yet gone public. One of us that I met called us spirits, which evidently means our abilities come from our souls, as opposed to our minds or bodies. It appears that voldisil is merely one kind of these spirits, but I’ve never heard of any other, so perhaps she was mistaken, or they’re just straight synonyms. The point is, does my ability have to do with death because that’s what I dealt with my whole adult life, or was I drawn to the field because of my future ability? Is there any connection at all, or is it just a coincidence? After all, like I said, everyone dies, so maybe the link is just something that I’ve wrongly perceived. I suppose it doesn’t matter in the end, but it would be nice to understand where we come from, and how we are the way we are, and whether any reason is strong enough to combat the chaos. I’ll die happy and satisfied with the small way I contributed to the world, helping families move on despite the sadness. Others are not so lucky, like this next reflection, from the perspective of a man who couldn’t be nice to save his life.

No comments :

Post a Comment