Tremendous Universe

 

This is how it always ends. Fire rains down from the sky and everything that you have ever known, loved or wished to hell turns to ash. The fighters pass every day now, the few patrols made of the conglomerated remnants of armies of many nations.

"Now Nico, the mountain whose summit was hidden away in the heavens has become one of the last refuges for the people from down below. Tucked into the side of the ancient slope this cold and remote cloister has been the sanctuary of our independent sect for over one hundred years.

The cherry tree at the front steps of the temple are laden with fat, feathery blossoms. A mere three nights past, the full moon had been unusually bright, bestowing upon the ethereal blooms, an unearthly sort of incandescence. Like a beacon in the night, the cherry blossoms led a ragged procession of refugees from lowland villages to the cloister.

We welcomed them in our midst and shared what we had with them. we gave them food and water from the last known clean source for hundreds of miles around. We gave them a chance of surviving this calamity, these one hundred souls. We gave them hope.

This morning, after noticing a strange and persistent aftertaste in the stream behind them temple, I went up to the summit to test the source water, as instructed by a military regimen that had passed through a month earlier. I tested the water myself. I tested it three times to be certain.

The source is tainted. Our last and only source of water is poisoned and I do not have the heart to tell them that if we keep drinking from the stream, we will all die in a matter of days.

Is it not more merciful to give them warmth and kindness and continue to fill their needs? Is it not better to die more quickly with hope than to suffer one's soul to be damed to despair?

Mother superior says that my faith is weak but that is not the case. I believe. I believe with all of my heart that it would be a far worse fate for these poor souls to have made the impossible journey here only to die a slow death of thirst and excruciating misery. Better to let them keep that hope. Better to let them die peacefully with no knowledge of their doom. Better for us all, I believe.

Dear God. Please forgive me."

The journal snapped shut. Shaking hands stuck it back into a wooden chest, nestled it under clothes and locked the drawer. After a few moments, there was a soft click as the door to the room closed and silence descended upon the gloom.

 

©  Tonya R Moore

 

---