The Radiant

In the land of milk and honey not so long ago, in a land not so far away, there lived a young woman ripe with the glisten of life. She was tall and willowy like the forest trees. Her hair black as Mississippi River soil and as long as the river channel. A child of the land. She was a reflection of the earth that gave birth to her, the sun that forged her skin, and the moon that guided her soul to this world. The light of her spirit could be seen from every village, like a star breathing life into all things, shining love and warmth upon everything that surrounded her. Beautiful she was but naive to the ways of man and ignorant to the laws that governed their world.

She lived in a castle made of limestone, clay brick, and ancient oak timbers built by the hands of her ancestors. The gumbo earth was nestled between boundaries of the human world and the spirit of the land, untouched by the universe outside. Animals and people alike, living and dead, gravitated toward her home searching for the source of luminescence. Many came to her door to heal. Some creatures journeyed there to mend their broken hearts. Others arrived in an effort to cleanse their soul. A few sought the light to discover themselves, to be born again.

Then came the day the Shadow Men arrived from the sea. The Shadow Men had no hearts, no souls, and a touch that could freeze time. Their shadow cast doubt, fear, and pestilence onto every village they entered. It was her radiant spirit that drew them there. They believed if they could capture some of her light they would feel love and warmth for the first time. For all they desired was to be human. But the Shadow Men knew nothing of love or warmth. Their spirits were empty and selfish. A black hole that devoured all things without remorse. The nature of their shadow was to take without repair and consume to their satisfaction. Infinite worlds they had devoured yet their stomach’s still growled.

The Shadow Men returned day after day and stole a piece of the radiant glowing spirit from earth’s child to keep for themselves. Still they felt nothing. So cold was their touch the light of her life force smoldered and turned to ash in their palms but they were not discouraged. Eager to feel the warmth of humanity, the Shadow Men continued to pluck away the woman’s shimmering aura. Day after day, they took pieces of her healing light to no avail until one day she shined no more.

Her children wept. The forest trees whistled with despair. A tragedy carried about by the breeze. The Shadow Men, unable to grasp the gift of humanity, carried the radiant into the forest to her grave. They buried her so deep not even the trees’ roots could hug her.

The red clay earth ran deep with tears that flow to this day. Some folks say they still see a willowy young woman with cascading dark hair, black as the Mississippi River banks and as long as the river channel, wandering the boundaries of her beloved land. They say they can hear the woman’s voice from deep in the blackness of the woods, calling out to her children and searching for the creatures of the land she treasured, singing a sad, soft lullaby. She is The Radiant; a lighthouse in the darkness, our innocence flickering uncertainty, now illuminating only the tragedy of mankind. The flame of life snuffed out. Her shadow is all that remains.