This little piece is one of those that just came fully formed. I can’t decide if I want to keep it as it is or make it into something longer.
This, then, is the place where souls are born.
I wouldn’t have known but for the pinpricks of light that shone in the darkness, beckoning those who yet had hope, who had not let the swords of life slice their tender hearts.
I stood on the edge of a cliff, needing only a single gust to propel me into the abyss. Feet flat and bare toes curled at the edge, I waited for a sign. Any sign. For good or ill. For hope or utter despair. I did not care which.
The lights fluttered around me, tiny butterflies that wanted only to live, and I wondered at their existence, at their desire for purpose. Below me stretched the abyss of utter oblivion, a yawning maw that promised dissolution. The choice was mine. Rise up and become again or plunge into the depths of nothingness.
This, then, is the place where souls are born. Not from a place of light, but from the darkness of despair, from that last moment where fear dominates and leaves only a desperate need to survive. From the hope of renewal when all other hope has gone.
I had to choose. Become the light in the darkness or welcome the bliss of nothingness.
The winds of change grabbed tendrils of my hair and caressed fevered skin. I stood, toes curled over the edge of the cliff. Thoughts of life flashed through a mind too tired to reason as I watched the lights do their dance of hope, each memory a shard of glass in an already broken heart. Choosing one above the other exceeded my capabilities.
The wind howled, angry now at my hesitation. The lights whirled faster, desperate to gain my attention, while the abyss waited below with no need to encourage.
I could wait no longer. With one final breath I closed my eyes and let my soul make its choice.