This is my Story

This is a short story I wrote as an analogy/metaphor for a certain part of my life. It's the most symbolic piece I've written. It probably seems incoherent to most, but I promise it makes sense.

There once was a small town comprised mostly of farms and churches that had a graveyard on the outlying edge.  It had a minute community of close-knit residents that were hard-working and tired-eyed but content with the solemn redundancy of their lives, living each day as if it were completely new.  Just as in every community, there were some who could not be satisfied with that simplistic way of life.

Our story begins on the outskirts of town in the graveyard.  The graveyard which had the ability to darken the brightest of people and dampen the highest of spirits.  The graveyard which all of the town avoided actively.

One day, a young shepherd boy walked full-heartedly into the graveyard hoping to make it bright and wonderful for the townspeople so that they might love it like they so dearly loved their churches and farms.  He took a piece of his heart and buried it there among the graves.  He hoped and had faith that his heart would grow, clear the shadows, and bring life back to a place of death.

At first, it seemed to work.  His heart grew into a tall, sturdy tree with vibrant green leaves and silver trunk.  Soon, though, the leaves wilted, the branches became gnarled, and the tree was filled with darkness as black as the graveyard.  At the sight of the tree's decay, the boy became sorrowful.  He spiraled into a depression unimaginable to most, and a shadow fell upon him.

Everywhere the shepherd boy walked, his shadow followed.  It began taking his mind.  He started acting differently.  One day, he took a black sheep, clipped a silver tag in its ear, and led it over a cliff.  Word began to spread, and the townsfolk became worried, but they trusted that the boy had a reason and said nothing.  Soon enough, though, the boy had done it again.  He took a grey sheep, clipped a silver tag in its ear, and led it off a cliff.  Both times he did this in broad daylight and in plain view of everyone.  (It seemed that the shepherd would always stay in the light where a shadow could be cast.  In the night, he would hide from the darkness like a frightened child.)  This time, the townsfolk could standby no longer; they confronted the boy about his actions.  Through all of their efforts, they could not convince the boy he had done anything wrong or was at fault in any way.

One afternoon while the boy was walking home, he heard a voice and was captivated by it.  He followed it to the very graveyard where his shadow first burdened him.  There, upon the branch of his dying tree sat a bird.  The bird sung melodiously over and over again, “The moon.  Look to the moon.”  And so he did, for as long as he had stood in awe of the song, night had fell around him.

The light of the moon filled the young shepherd boy, his eyes grew wide, his knees met the ground, and tears plummeted freely around him, coursing down his cheeks.

“I see now,” he uttered with unmatched certainty.  

He rose to his feet and turned to thank the bird.  it was gone.  In that moment, the young shepherd boy left the town.  One day he would return a different man, to thank the bird and ask the townsfolk for forgiveness.

This is my story.

Author's Note

Excuse me if there are any errors; I typed this in a rush and at a late hour.