Migrating Birds
A Tale Of Dark Times
This is the result of a prompt from Judey Kalchik in her Facebook Group The Medium Writers and Vocal Creators Support Group which you can read here.
🖤💀🖤💀🖤💀🖤💀🖤💀🖤💀🖤💀🖤💀🖤💀🖤💀🖤💀🖤💀
We wondered how it had come to this, as the sun was setting for the last time on our snow-covered northern village.
Our village used to be thriving, people came from miles around for our goods and expertise, it was a happy place and everyone got on with everyone else. It was as close to perfection as anyone could imagine.
Then the blight came, we don't know where from but it coincided with the arrival of a shaman, who the village did not take to. They respected the land, the sun and the stars and paid respect to nature but had no time for gods or spirits.
They started finding their work harder, thinking was harder, and they were tired and eventually took to their beds. They had never needed doctors or religion, and this was something that the village had no idea how to tackle.
Families and friends tried to look after each other but everyone was soon unable to move from their beds or cots. Their skin began to atrophy. And that then spread to their muscles and brain. The shaman called on a few and said the lord was preparing to take their souls, they had shown the lord no respect and this was his judgement.
He was shunned away but the sick were easy prey for him. He told they their souls were soon to leave and would be food for the lord. He did not elaborate even when questioned. We were continually chasing him away from the bedridden sick. Their throats turned to sandpaper and their skin became brittle but they did not die. They started to pray for release but obviously had no one to pray to.
Although they were still on this mortal plane they also knew they were in hell but could not move. They had thirst and hunger that could not be slaked because they could not eat or drink.
Another side effect was they could not close their eyes and their tear ducts no longer worked so their eyeballs became like their skin, and burned.
There were six of us unaffected trying to tend to the sick but undying population. We could not feed them or give them drinks and could only watch them deteriorate and wonder if this was going to be our fate also.
The crops were not being brought in and livestock was running wild but did not seem to be affected by the blight. That was a small consolation.
No one came to the village for fear that the blight might take them. We had pleaded for help but it fell on deaf ears and even though we were free from the blight those outside the village would not allow us near them, but they did leave us food and ale, which was a small consolation.
Then the sick became quiet, they seemed to be dead, and suddenly the field outside was thronged with strange black birds. The shaman came again.
“Their souls are preparing to leave to meet the lord”.
We asked how he knew that.
He said.
“I have seen this before” but refused to be drawn.
They looked like birds migrating, that’s what anyone who didn’t know would think. They almost blackened the sky there were so many. We weren't sure of their direction but they were leaving at speed, and they couldn't ever return.
They were the souls of all those loved ones we had lost and we didn’t know if they were flying to paradise or to a burning hell.
We looked and saw the shaman walking down the road.
His work had been done be we had not an inkling why this had happened, but our village was no more.
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Comments (5)
I like how creepy and mysterious this is!
very dark indeed. well done. Love you image you created as well.
Great story , love the imagine you created . Very dark
Wow! It's such an amazing story from the prompt! I loved it!
Wow! That is dark and scary! Good story!