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by Letizia Turini 10 days ago in fantasy

Short Story

Karl Bodek and Kurt Conrad Löw, One Spring (1941)

She blinked in surprise as she saw time slowing down. The trees were now distinct shapes, not just dark stains gliding on a white blanket of snow. The whole valley seemed still to her eyes, the mountains in the back majestically posed. The landscape was so desolate and silent that she was afraid to breathe for a long moment, the whisper of air coming in and going out might have disturbed such quiet. Everything seemed on the verge, a sigh would have been enough for the mountains to start crumbling down.

In the flat valley in front of her, she saw a dark large rock, the only element contrasting with the whiteness that enclosed it. On top of it, she spotted the main cause of her shock. A tiny blue light was floating just above the rock in a harmonious movement which was the only one she could see in the whole valley. Maybe in the whole world or at least in her own little world. She focused on that tiny light, so delicate but so powerful at the same time. She liked to think about herself like this, in her childish dreams, fragile but strong. That small light had actually a shape, she noticed after staring long enough at it. She made out a small face of indescribable beauty. A very feminine and delicate face, with high cheeks bones, smooth skin and two powerful eyes staring intensely back at her. She could not say how she was able to make out the colour of those eyes, but she could see a deeper blue than the rest, with a look as sharp as a knife and as powerful as any gun. Tiny wings were attached to a slim body, covered only partly by a strange dress made by leaves tangled together. The leaves seemed to be alive and kept growing. The peculiar creature had also long hair hanging loose until her tiny waist, moving when there was no wind. She brought instinctively a hand to her own hair and surprisingly found it there, long and luxuriant.

She got to the conclusion that the blue light was a fairy, a woods’ spirit and she was staring back at her. At her! She felt blessed and could not avoid smiling. After long enough the fairy stopped smiling and started an elegant dance, with her bare feet leaning on nothing but air. The creature moved in circles and up and down, gently waving her arms. The body was light as a feather. It seemed like nothing could ruin that moment of magic, that peace. It was pure beauty, elegance and kindness.

Abruptly one black unshaped spot appeared behind the spirit, transforming that picture into something horrendous. The fairy was still completely focused on her dance, unaware of what was coming close. She wanted to scream to warn her, but nothing came out of her throat, not in that valley of silence. She focused then on her eyes and the fairy finally saw the danger and turned, ready to face the enemy. And so the dance began again. She couldn't make out what was really happening, the fairy seemed to be dancing again and that black mass was trying to attack. Altogether it seemed another beautiful scene, beautiful and terrible at the same time. She could feel so much pain and fear coming from that dance. She could relate to it.

The black creature was changing form when she focused her attention on it, it was shaping as a big, black bird. A raven with deep terrible eyes and wings writhing to get close to the fairy. Then the beak slowly curved and the whole shape of the beast started to change again, and the raven grew into an eagle, enveloped in darkness. But the fairy kept dancing and moving elegantly, as if nothing could harm her. The more the spirit was dancing the more the light was growing intense, until it was almost not bearable anymore. She wanted to cover her eyes but she could not abandon the fairy. As the light grew intense the black beast started to screech silently and to slowly fade, until nothing remained. Trying to catch her breath, the winning fairy posed on the rock, descending calmly. Her arms resting on her sides, her delicate breast rising up and down. Then, slowly, the spirit turned and smile.

She blinked again and the landscape came back to normal. Her young eyes now could not spot anything but trees like black stains drifting away on the virgin snow. She moved her eyes from the fissure of the train and touched the number on her arm, 1439. The fairy had won, good had prevailed on evil, as it should have always been. Turning her shaved head to the inside of the wagon she smiled in the dark where no one else could see her, while the train kept making its way to Auschwitz.

Letizia Turini
Letizia Turini
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