OUT OF PLATO’S CAVE:

A Sample

Will, in a dream flight with his trickster Jeddin, lands in peril.

Teetering on the Bridge

Will stumbles, giddiness pulling at him. “What is this?” The stony surface under his bird-clawed feet, shiny in patches here and there, glows in a tracery too fine to see clearly.

A high sweet voice calls from far ahead. “Come!” The bridge span ahead tightens to a very narrow width. Will’s wings are now gone. Jeddin, behind him, whispers, “Careful!” Will freezes, his claws scratching and slipping across the hard surface.

A moment, and the Nightingale appears ahead, hovering, to sing:

“Take thou good heed that ye may all, under the leadership of Him Who is the Source of Divine Guidance, be enabled to direct thy steps aright upon the Bridge, which is sharper than the sword and finer than a hair…” 

“Come!” the voice ahead calls.

Will can’t move. How can I keep my footing? Why am I here? What is this bridge about? Who is she, the one who calls to me? He turns to ask Jeddin, but no one is there. He stares ahead into the far-off light, trying to find the caller. The birdsong lingers.

“Sharper than a sword and finer than a hair…” Not encouraging.

Vague and distant rumblings come from behind and below.

 “Come on!” the high voice, feminine, more urgent now, says again. A moment ago Will’s feet were claws, gripping the edges of this slick footing over darkness. Now he’s fully human again, no wings, no claws, bare toes on an unsure edge, teetering slightly in some shifting touches of breeze, alone. Below him, the darkness roils, a flash or a rumble rising here and there, the smell of hot metal rising around him.

Last Updated Wednesday, February 28 2024 @ 04:48 pm  93 Hits   
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