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  • Writer's pictureThe Damsel

Shadows Passing

Sometimes I just want people to read what I write. Mostly I want my wonderful family to read what my mind makes up. But other times I just wish that it could float out there, for people to read sometime when boredom sets in and they have nothing better to do. So here is one of those stories, that I wrote some time ago and wish to let float. So if you have time and want to read this, or are simply really bored, here it is. Read it, if you want to, and hopefully, you enjoy it too.

          Shadows Passing

This event is happening as I write; I will share with you what I see. Two rivers run through a wood, that we would call paradise, almost exactly perpendicular to each other. It is a place where no humans have ever been, at least nothing that was truly and fully human. In the wood is a clearing, one of many, that rests on the side of a river. The river bubbles and foams, however, it only adds to the beauty of the place and leaves the place quiet and peaceful.  

The sun begins to brush the treetops in the west, and the animals that live there are preparing their beds and nests for the night. The sun’s rays still light the clearing and it is alive with color; however, the brightest thing in the clearing is the silver glow of the harp which stands upright atop a grey-brown stone which lays on the river's bank.

A dark shape moves through the woods that lay on the opposite side of the river. It travels towards the clearing; and as it comes closer, it looks less and less formidable. Suddenly it emerges from the woods. It stands still on the edge of the rivers opposite the bank. The figure stands for only a moment and then leaps from the edge to a rock only a couple feet away from it. It leaps stone to stone across the river. And when it reaches the side where the clearing is it stops. The figure holds its head high but the large hood of the cloak keeps the figure’s face in shadow.

The person glides over to the harp and slips its arms outside of the cloak and unclasps it. The figure slides the cloak off and the dark black fabric of the cloak billows to the ground and settles around the personage's feet. The now-revealed figure is a girl. Her straight, black hair hangs down to her slim waist; and she wears a form-fitting white dress that brushes her ankles and has long sleeves. She bends and spreads the black cloak over the rock in front of the harp. She then sits on the ground by the harp. She lifts her hands to the strings and begins to play.

The music is eerie and yet beautiful. After a few minutes, wisps of smoke start to come off of the strings. She plays until the sun goes down and the sky darkens, and she continues. The whips of smoke float away from the strings and lengthen into the shadowy representations of people. Hundreds of shadowy figures surround the girl in the clearing by the river, and she plays on and on. The moon comes out and still shadow people are forming in the woods that directly surround the clearing. The stars come out and the music slows and then stops. The wisps of smoke vanish. Yet, the shadowy figures remain.  

The girl stands and steps away from the harp. Her dress stands out, bright against the dark night and the shadows of people. She takes the hand of a little shadow girl who stands next to her and then whispers something to her. The little girl nods and then the white-clothed girl lets go of the little girl's shadowy, smokey hand. The little girl then walks through the harp’s frame and the strings seem to slice her as she enters the next life and her soul, which is like a shadow, leaves earth. The rest of the shadowy souls seem to understand that they too must enter the next world through the harp. Slowly, one by one, each of them walks through the harp into the next world.

When all the souls are gone, the girl picks her cloak off of the ground and drops it onto her shoulders, closes the clasps, and lifts the hood. She, Death, seems to glide away, her beautiful figure covered by the cloak and her head held high. Death then slips into the woods, out of the clearing, and into pure, unmarred darkness. Her work is done for the time being. 

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