Picking up the thread of a story, Little Voice listened.
There was no tug, no resistance.
Little Voice lay the thread down, sighed and sat down. This could take a while.
She watched the thread hoping it would do something. Perhaps, she thought, it will pulse in a little while, I just need to be patient.
But nothing happened for the longest time as she sat and watched and waited.
Except, she pondered, there is something happening to me. It's infinitesimal, almost nothing, but I can feel it.
She picked up the thread again.
Holding it carefully between her hands, she closed her eyes and noticed the changing tide of her low mood. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, she felt the distant pull.
This story was not going to come in with a bang. It was not going to allow itself to be noticed by just anyone. This story was shy.
Little Voice smiled.
It was a reassuring smile and held a warm encouragement in it. She took a step further inside herself, metaphorically speaking, and waited some more.
There now. It's okay. Take your time. I'll wait for you to come closer.
The cursor key blinked repeatedly.
A morse code on the screen flashed out a signal that showed it was ready for action. The action was a momentary shift in awareness where thoughts fade and the observer becomes observed.
Who are you, Little Voice wondered. I can almost see you.
A voice. Not her own little voice but another.
It was soft. Distant. Almost incomprehensible. A vague sigh of a voice like a soft breeze on a summer's day. It held mystery within it as if it was unsure even of itself.
The thread, that Little Voice had been holding, warmed ever so slightly.
A deluge of images rained down and suddenly Little Voice could see the tortured soul of this story.
It, for she could not discern it in any other way, was hiding.
Megalithic stones soared up and somewhere far behind them, etched in the background, indistinct, crouched the protagonist of this thread's story.
Little Voice felt the overwhelming fall of sadness consume her.
This story was ancient; it was hide and seek. This story was separate and alone. Fearful of being found while also desperate in its longing to connect.
Childlike and innocent but somehow aged and withered, it looked back at Little Voice and repeated its query.
No one but yourself.
Little Voice sat and sent the welcoming response through the darkness and the pain like a kiss on the wind between them. It travelled the gulf straight and true.
Reaching its mark, Little Voice felt the thread tug a little and then release.
Time stood still.
The wait seemed endless.
A stand-off where the story considered its options and came up wanting.
A flourish of words filled with pain hit Little Voice hard. A slap of bitterness and misery stung her cheek.
Little Voice felt the sting knowing it was a defensive blow. The thread had become taut in her hand. There was now passion tightening it; it wanted to be released.
That part of your story has ended. I am here now.
I sought you out and found you.
Come closer. You are too distant still.
Little Voice sang a song of experience, her voice trilling high and low. The cadence of her song reverberated and echoed inside the chasm between them.
The story thread pulsed with the song and she saw the creature behind the megalith stand.
Come, live your story.
You no longer need to hide.
Tie your thread with mine. Our two threads can join. We will connect and create new stories together.
Perhaps, we can create a tapestry of our adventures together. But first, come closer.
It's time to bridge that distance between us.
So, using the taut thread as its guide, the protagonist began to advance forward. The distant gap between them growing smaller with each step.
This is my ineligible entry to the Dreem - Word of the Week contest. This is the 3rd round of season 1 and the word is Distant.
William Blake's Song of Experience, The Human Abstract is in the public domain. The eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Line breaks were created in Canva using their free elements by me (aka the little voice).