Author Topic: Not So Different (Short story by shadow-kiki)  (Read 3606 times)

Jubal

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Not So Different (Short story by shadow-kiki)
« on: February 13, 2014, 02:11:41 PM »
Not So Different
By shadow-kiki, via DeviantArt

Prompt: A young priest is in the catacombs under the Papal city of Qualnar, when they come across a troglodyte - a creature of the caves...


What are we mere peasants to do for money or even for survival? Our lives are forever being controlled by our faith. We are the less loved children lost in the shadow of our god, Jupiter. So in the end our answer lies in our faith, become loved; however, the idea seems simple, but it truly is not. We fight hunger, poverty, sickness, and so how do we join the ranks of the good, rich, and strong? For every one of us Jupiter has a path marked for us, some for greatness and for others: failure. I cannot say what path lies ahead of me but I do know I will never be a child of light, but a child that hides in the shadows.

Our lives in the city are dreadful to say the least, feces are strewn across our roads and the dead pile up in the alleys for we cannot afford a proper burial. The faith in which we swear by is engrained in us not because we believe in it, but because we are forced to live by it. Jupiter is not the deity that I believe in, but it is better than a humiliatingly public death. Yet some days it is nice to think of the sweet release from this pitiful place. Perhaps maybe the embarrassment and pain would be worthwhile in the end, but for now I have promises to keep. My promise is to end this reign of terror that is held above all of us for Jupiter is not the ‘god’ that sees us as his own, no, he is for the rich. I personally believe in a god that is unnamed and fair to us all; a god that does not choose favorites!

Where I stand today is where the rich, holy, and divine are buried down under the busy streets of Qualnar. Here we pray for protection of the souls for the deceased and swear by Jupiter’s wrath if any harm is to come to them. In reality most of the other priests chat and rake in the money that they receive for ‘praying’. I at least have enough respect for my donors to pray to the very god that I do not have faith in. Really I am unsure if it is out of pity or out of kindness that I act for these blind fools, but perhaps one day they will see the light of the church. Most of my benefactors are middle-class and their lines tend to be deeper in the ground where the smooth stones become rough and ragged. The torches become far and few between, but for those of us whom have walked these pathways for years, our eyes adjust and we trudge on. Ever so rarely I pass another person walking back from their prayers and oddly enough I prefer not to have to deal with speaking to them.

On my days of peace I spend hours praying for the safety of even those that I am not paid to do so for. I like to feel the ease of mind that at least they are happy, while I kneel on sharp rocks spending my time doing nothing else with my life. Yet, who am I to complain? I have nothing to lose in this world unlike so many others for I am married to my god and to my faith. Who am I to ridicule those that follow the laws that I too abide by?

Suddenly the torches flicker as a cool breeze sweeps by and whips years of dust in my eyes. I furiously rub at my eyes with the rough fabric of my rope scraping at my skin. Then I hear it as clear as day; a gurgled grunt from a humanoid troglodyte. My mind screams at me to run, but my body is frozen in a faint hope that perhaps it would not see me and hopefully not eat me.

“Little girl,” the scratchy voice had a slightly higher pitch on the ‘ir’ of girl. Even as I remain kneeling I can almost sense that this is my end, a simple flick of its wrist would surely be the death of me. Yet the longer I sat the more aware I was of the steady breathing of the trog, which may I remind you was just standing there! “Little girl, do not fear me.”

Finally I stood and looked to the hideously pale and hunched beast. “I am not a girl.” A smile crept upon the cracked lips of the trog. I still had the chance to run, but my legs felt like lead as the beast stared at me and took in every little detail.

“There are too many curves to be even a feminine male of you city dwellers. You are a female dressed as a priest, are you not?” It was creeping towards me as if I was nothing for it to worry about. “You should not fear me little one.” My back pressed against the wall and my fingers rubbed against the rough tombs in search of anything to defend myself with, alas my actions were futile. “I will cover the entrance I have made so that our paths shall not cross again, but tell me little one, why are you here?”

Finally my legs felt lighter and my body responded to my brain’s flight mode. If I had been more aware of my situation I would have noticed that the trog did not follow me, it did not wish to. If my mind would have worked I would have noticed that it was not interested in harming me. Only if I would have stopped to think I would have had a friend in this world that simply had crossed my path by accident. Perhaps that day would have ended differently if I was not frightened by the mere fact that it knew all of my secrets where in areas humans were blind. We both live dangerous lives, he searches for caves and is banished from society, and I, I am a female playing a man’s part.


Notes by Jubal:
Spoiler (click to show/hide)
The duke, the wanderer, the philosopher, the mariner, the warrior, the strategist, the storyteller, the wizard, the wayfarer...