The Revelation

By the side of an old worn down road in a house that had clearly seen better days a proud yet disillusioned and melancholic man was running a Bed & Breakfast. The road had been a busy one for well over a century, since the traffic was propelled by animals, and the little Bed & Breakfast had flourished under his family’s management for four generations. Now, since a new nearby highway was built a few years ago, he could count the traffic passing in a day on his fingers and toes and he had been forced into the decision of closing the Bed & Breakfast down. There simply was no customer base anymore. Since he was unmarried and didn’t have any children the family business would in all likelihood eventually have died with him anyway but it was still with a broken heart that he finally filed the necessary paperwork and started pondering what he would do with the rest of his life.

Late in the evening of the very last day that he would keep the place open a very old man came wandering along the side of the road, supporting himself on a long wooden staff. He introduced himself to the Bed & Breakfast keeper, explaining that he used to be a priest but had been fired from his congregation after he himself had started to receive visions from god and that he had now committed himself to aimlessly wander the earth, surviving entirely on charity from others. When he thus asked if he could possibly stay the night free of charge the Bed & Breakfast keeper couldn’t hold back a broad smile, thinking that he couldn’t have thought up a more fitting last guest if he tried, and let the priest know that he was welcome to stay as long as he desired, for which the priest thanked him dearly but reassured him that one night would be quite enough. The two men shared a dinner together that night that the Bed & Breakfast keeper, in honor of the occasion, prepared himself, the both of them eating in comfortable silence.

In the middle of the night the Bed & Breakfast keeper was awakened by noise coming from the old priest’s room and, bouncing out of bed in a hurry, he ran down the stairs and the length of the corridor to see what was going on. Opening the door he found the old man twisting and turning in his bed, slamming his staff against the floor and yelling out for the Bed & Breakfast keeper to come to him and seeing that his wishes had been answered the priest calmed down and gestured for the man to come closer to the bed.

‘I had another vision.’

He said with a serious expression on his face.

‘I believe it is to be my very last one and it was about you.’

‘About me?’

Asked the Bed & Breakfast keeper with surprise and obvious disbelief but feeling sympathetic towards the old man he still asked him to go on and tell him what it had been about. The priest gestured for him to lean in even closer and then he told him, in a low and fateful voice.

‘A few days ago there was a child born in the village nearest to here, a son born to a baker and a school teacher. This child is very dangerous and you must kill it. That is your destiny, what you were put here on earth, in this house, to do.’

The Bed & Breakfast keeper couldn’t, and didn’t want to, believe what he was hearing but before he had time to respond the old priest drew his final breath and fell back against his pillow, dead. Going through the motions of all the necessary practical and administrative work resulting from the death of a guest in one of his rooms, the man moved as through a haze, unable to take his mind off the dying priest’s last words. He had always considered himself a person of faith but not to the degree where he would be inclined to believe someone claiming visions from god and he, for obvious reasons, specifically didn’t want to believe in this particular one. He couldn’t seriously be meant to do the unspeakable thing that had been asked of him, could he? Yet, there was something about the look in the dying priest’s eyes that made it utterly impossible for him to entirely shake off the possibility that he might have been telling the truth.

More out of curiosity than anything else, at least to begin with, the Bed & Breakfast keeper during the weeks that followed looked into the details of what the old priest had told him and was rather shaken to confirm that a son had indeed been born to a baker and a school teacher a few days before the incident. It had apparently been something of a miracle since the mother a few years before had been told she would never be able to bear children, a fact that the Bed & Breakfast keeper couldn’t help but interpret as giving weight to the priest’s supposed vision. Not once did he seriously consider going through with what he had been asked to do but he was never able to fully shake it off either and it gnawed on him until he himself died, only a few years later, broken down by the fear of what his punishment might be for refusing to fulfill his duty in the case that it had indeed been assigned to him by god. He was found dead in a chair by his breakfast table, his hair all white and a sad expression of long-term terror on his face.

The son of the baker and the school teacher, utterly unaware of either the priest’s deathbed vision or the anguish of the Bed & Breakfast keeper, grew up to be … just some guy. He works in a grocery store and makes up an enthusiastic cornerstone of a mediocre bowling team. He enjoys classic rock, crossword puzzles, crime novels and reality television, and drinks an entirely normal yet not quite healthy amount of beer.
The end.

Nosy Neighbour – 79 word story

She woke up,
same time she always did,
drank coffee by the kitchen window,
as she always did,
and watched her neighbour leave,
same time he always did.

It was funny.
She had seen him leave so many times.
He seemed to always be wearing the same clothes
and she couldn’t remember him ever coming back again.

This morning she followed after,
through town,
through an old rusty gate,
and then she woke up,
same time she always did.

The Revelation

By the side of an old worn down road in a house that had clearly seen better days a proud yet disillusioned and melancholic man was running a Bed & Breakfast. The road had been a busy one for well over a century, since the traffic was propelled by animals, and the little Bed & Breakfast had flourished under his family’s management for four generations. Now, since a new nearby highway was built a few years ago, he could count the traffic passing in a day on his fingers and toes and he had been forced into the decision of closing the Bed & Breakfast down. There simply was no customer base anymore. Since he was unmarried and didn’t have any children the family business would in all likelihood eventually have died with him anyway but it was still with a broken heart that he finally filed the necessary paperwork and started pondering what he would do with the rest of his life.

Late in the evening of the very last day that he would keep the place open a very old man came wandering along the side of the road, supporting himself on a long wooden staff. He introduced himself to the Bed & Breakfast keeper, explaining that he used to be a priest but had been fired from his congregation after he himself had started to receive visions from god and that he had now committed himself to aimlessly wander the earth, surviving entirely on charity from others. When he thus asked if he could possibly stay the night free of charge the Bed & Breakfast keeper couldn’t hold back a broad smile, thinking that he couldn’t have thought up a more fitting last guest if he tried, and let the priest know that he was welcome to stay as long as he desired, for which the priest thanked him dearly but reassured him that one night would be quite enough. The two men shared a dinner together that night that the Bed & Breakfast keeper, in honor of the occasion, prepared himself, the both of them eating in comfortable silence.

In the middle of the night the Bed & Breakfast keeper was awakened by noise coming from the old priest’s room and, bouncing out of bed in a hurry, he ran down the stairs and the length of the corridor to see what was going on. Opening the door he found the old man twisting and turning in his bed, slamming his staff against the floor and yelling out for the Bed & Breakfast keeper to come to him and seeing that his wishes had been answered the priest calmed down and gestured for the man to come closer to the bed.

‘I had another vision.’

He said with a serious expression on his face.

‘I believe it is to be my very last one and it was about you.’

‘About me?’

Asked the Bed & Breakfast keeper with surprise and obvious disbelief but feeling sympathetic towards the old man he still asked him to go on and tell him what it had been about. The priest gestured for him to lean in even closer and then he told him, in a low and fateful voice.

‘A few days ago there was a child born in the village nearest to here, a son born to a baker and a school teacher. This child is very dangerous and you must kill it. That is your destiny, what you were put here on earth, in this house, to do.’

The Bed & Breakfast keeper couldn’t, and didn’t want to, believe what he was hearing but before he had time to respond the old priest drew his final breath and fell back against his pillow, dead. Going through the motions of all the necessary practical and administrative work resulting from the death of a guest in one of his rooms, the man moved as through a haze, unable to take his mind off the dying priest’s last words. He had always considered himself a person of faith but not to the degree where he would be inclined to believe someone claiming visions from god and he, for obvious reasons, specifically didn’t want to believe in this particular one. He couldn’t seriously be meant to do the unspeakable thing that had been asked of him, could he? Yet, there was something about the look in the dying priest’s eyes that made it utterly impossible for him to entirely shake off the possibility that he might have been telling the truth.

More out of curiosity than anything else, at least to begin with, the Bed & Breakfast keeper during the weeks that followed looked into the details of what the old priest had told him and was rather shaken to confirm that a son had indeed been born to a baker and a school teacher a few days before the incident. It had apparently been something of a miracle since the mother a few years before had been told she would never be able to bear children, a fact that the Bed & Breakfast keeper couldn’t help but interpret as giving weight to the priest’s supposed vision. Not once did he seriously consider going through with what he had been asked to do but he was never able to fully shake it off either and it gnawed on him until he himself died, only a few years later, broken down by the fear of what his punishment might be for refusing to fulfill his duty in the case that it had indeed been assigned to him by god. He was found dead in a chair by his breakfast table, his hair all white and a sad expression of long-term terror on his face.

The son of the baker and the school teacher, utterly unaware of either the priest’s deathbed vision or the anguish of the Bed & Breakfast keeper, grew up to be … just some guy. He works in a grocery store and makes up an enthusiastic cornerstone of a mediocre bowling team. He enjoys classic rock, crossword puzzles, crime novels and reality television, and drinks an entirely normal yet not quite healthy amount of beer.
The end.

Transience

He turned around in the doorway and let his eyes sweep over it one last time before leaving. Now empty once more it looked just like it had done all those years ago when they had stood together, right where he stood now, to see it for the first time.

He remembered how young they had been, how irrepressibly in love, how filled to the brim with hopes and dreams. Some were now teasingly close to coming true, some had been crushed under the relentless boot heels of consequence and coincidence, and some remained as dreams, unchanged. Those now cold and naked walls, who had witnessed it all, would not spill a word of their wisdom to anyone.

Looking around, he tried to find a sign, just any sign, that they had ever been there at all. He found the permanent stain, left where they had spilt something boiling on the wooden floor, and he saw a dried red rose petal, dancing enchantingly back and forth across the room, following the gusts of wind coming in through the open window.

Swish

They sat, as so many times before, at a table by the window in a coffee shop, a group of twenty-something friends, talking about everything and nothing. A few of them had known each other since before they could remember, some since the earliest days of school and the rest had joined paths at various stages along the way. Some of them were drinking coffee, a few were eating and some, with neither food nor beverage, had fished out their phones and were currently part of entirely other circumstances than the ones unfolding around them.

One in the group had finished eating a while ago and was thoughtfully playing with what had been left over on the plate before sighing deeply, looking up and around at the others, saying

‘Remember when it felt like anything was possible? How we sat here at this very table enthusiastically planning and speculating about our future, about all the things we were going to do and all the places we were going to go? Remember how full of energy we were? How vibrant the air was? How we fed off each other and built each other up? Now look at us. What happened?’

Some of the others nodded solemnly but didn’t say anything, the ones with their phones out chipped in with well rehearsed, vaguely encouraging, grunts, having obviously not heard a word, and a melancholic silence fell over them all, until one of them, who had been chewing on a somewhat stubborn piece of asparagus, finally managed to swallow, washed it down with a mouthful of water and said

‘That was three weeks ago. Have a little patience.’