Memories of the Immortal Man – STORY
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761 words – Memories of the Immortal Man
NB: This was my entry into the one day short story competition for the Christchurch Art Gallery! We only had 8 hours to make the story it started at 9:00am and ended at 5:00pm (I think) the rules were we had to use various things from these lists to write the story. My friend Monty helped me figure out how to do the editing just 30 minutes before I had to hand it in.
I was a bit sad that the winning entry wasn’t even a story it was just a list… basically the person wrote a list of reason to travel. Or something. I didn’t understand it and I think others didn’t either
http://library150.com/Competitions/OneDayShortStory/
You can read the winning entries there. This is my entry, its not very good or as good as the winning ones. But I did try.
Memories of the Immortal Man
There he lay, in dreams and dismay that the world had changed within his days. He looked so old, so tired and worn, a statue unfinished abandoned by its crafter. His age was question, a hundred or a thousand? And upon his face scars were worn. His eyes so fair as if a Gods full of stories, few tears could he shed for his tiring existence. He was after-all immortal.
Slowly as he stood, he seemed so fragile, and he whispered to himself “why can’t I die yet…†an immortal who wished for an end, so strange to hate what so many had quested, but he longed to put an end to his memories for everywhere he looked his mind went in flashes.
Stretching as he made his way up, he began to let out a smile, turning his head from the grass he laid towards a beautiful fountain, magnificent in all its colours, put together by artistic visionaries, wearing beautiful peacock birds he shut his eyes to pleasant memories. He listened to the running water and remembered a time so long ago- when he and his partner embraced each other, dancing in-tune to its flow, “Such Beauty†he whispered… trailing his voice and as reality hit, a tear had dropped for his partner, who had long since passed from earth.
After a moment of silence, he slowly began to walk, still warm from the pleasant memories, of dance and water falling. He began to make his way towards the gallery of arts, and as he approached the entrance, he was met by tall sculptures in number. He looked up and it was here he began to shiver. “They look like…†he then Froze for a minute, his mind jolted back in time… “The great ships…†he whispered “The war we never won†as he slowly remembered, he watched as if it were yesterday, so fresh in his tired mind. The Spanish ships where he and his men sailed to conquer England… “So many lost, If only I had turned back…†his voice became such a faint whisper, as he turned his head away.
Taking a breath, letting out a sigh, unable to face the horrors of his mind, he turned away from the the sculptures of voyage and began to head far away. Towards the old Cathedral in the centre square of the city, he ventured following a tram line, not lifting his head once- To the Gods I will pray for safety and escape, he thought. The people around him, seemed like ghosts. He just went by them, none taking notice. He began his descent deep inside heading toward the alter, however reaching the chancel, he was startled by an oak carved statue, and he stopped to look at the beautiful eagle.
“John the Apostleâ€
he said to himself, reaching out his hand to brush his fingers lightly down it’s texture. “So often your words bought me safety… back when it felt like hope was gone.â€
His mind took him then, to the wars of which he fought, from the first great war, to the second world war- to times in the cold, where poison gas rose, where many he had led fell under his word. So much guilt he carried, for an end he would beg. Yet though through each memory, within his hand tight, A book about a great man, he clutched tight. By the smile on his face one could make the guess… that the book was a memory, about someone he knew dear.
Feeling calmed, and breathing in peace he walked his way out to the street. He looked to the sky and realized his life, could be full of horrors yet beauty and life. He had met dear friends, and lost dear souls. Each experience had made him stronger, and each had helped him grow. Feeling better, deep inside he began a trail, towards the bridge of remembrance, a place to remember the fallen soldiers.
Though as he walked he was once again stalled, as he had stepped on a poster that had fallen off the wall. He picked it up slowly and examined it in detail, “The Great Gatsby†he said, reading it over, then smiling at the irony, or perhaps it was fate… for the words underneath read ‘Everybody has a dream’ and whispering to himself, he said so quietly- “sometimes those dreams are memories and sometimes they go forever†as he continued his journey…
About The Author
Matty is a 36 year old girl who is an Autistic Poet, Writer and Artist and lives alone in Christchurch New Zealand with a kitty! Matty has given many talks on autism and about being unique in a world that's often not accepting, Matty has also engaged with artist and worked on Art projects Matty usually works on an Art project at the same time as a writing one! This means posts can be a bit delayed!
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This is very beautifully written. Kudos