T is for theft.
It violates the norms,
Yet it comes in several forms.
Robbery and theft,
Reveal a life so bereft.
The state of living:
Once taken, never regained.
Irreplaceable.
The monk traipsed
through the dark, foreign woods. The sound of the autumn leaves crunching
beneath his boots was the only thing distracting him from the sinking pain in
his chest. He wiped a cool bead of sweat from his forehead and perched on
a mossy rock. He had been walking for what felt like an eternity,
desperately trying to escape his village and the harrowing events that he
witnessed merely hours ago. He closed his eyes, but his eyelids only
showed him the image of what he was trying so hard to ignore. He saw
Coral’s face - her smooth porcelain skin and her long brown eyelashes framing
her twinkling blue eyes. He savored her image for a moment, inhaling
deeply in hopes to catch a whiff of her delicate perfume. As he exhaled,
a sharp gust of wind rushed past him, mimicking Coral’s soft giggle, and he
winced as it stung his face. He shut his eyes tighter and tucked his face
in his arm, but the peaceful image of his wife was suddenly replaced by a
replay of her last moments - drenched in sweat, quivering under pounds of
blanket and wool. Despite the freezing air, he felt the warmth of fire on
his cheeks as he pictured her burning corpse. The monk slumped to the ground in
sorrow. He forcefully opened his eyes to rid himself of the nightmarish scene,
releasing a frigid stream down his cheeks. He carefully stood up and continued to walk
north, hoping to find a warm place to sleep. Eventually he caught a
glimpse of a dim light in the distance, and began to trek toward its
source. He approached a cabin on the outskirts of a small village and
quietly peered in a window. A small family bustled around the kitchen,
preparing for dinner, so the monk decided to knock.
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| The forest, courtesy of Moyan Brenn on Flickr |
The door cracked open
and a lanky, bearded man craned his neck through the opening and peered at the
monk. The monk explained that he was traveling to the monastery to become a bhikkhu after the death of his wife,
and that he needed a place to sleep. Before the man had a chance to
reply, the door swung open and the man’s wife greeted the monk and ushered him
into the warm house, insisting that he join them for dinner. The monk
glanced at the lamb cooking over an open flame, breathed in the aroma of
freshly baked naan, and gladly accepted.
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| A fire roars from within the house. Courtesy of Pixabay |
The wife began serving everyone
as they sat around a small kitchen table. She filled her husband’s plate,
the monk's, and lastly the plate of her son, whose young eyes were fixated on
the monk. Halfway through the meal, the boy became unsettled and began to
whimper. The boy’s whimpers soon turned into wails and his legs began to
flail. The parents tried to comfort the boy, whispering in his ear and
patting his head and shoulder, but their efforts were futile; the boy continued
to sob. The mother looked over at the monk and mouthed an apology.
Before the monk could reassure her, the woman forcefully yanked the boy up by
his arm and slung him into the roaring fire.
The monk watched in horror as the boy drowned in the flames. The
smell of burnt flesh filled the house, and after what felt like an eternity,
the only remaining noise was the crackling of the calm flames. The mother
noticed the monk’s terror and laughed, the father slowly stood up and walked
into the next room. The monk began to
tremble; he felt that his fate was sealed. The man walked back into the
kitchen holding an old ivory book. Frozen in fear, the monk grimaced as
he saw the parents of the boy walk over to his ashes. He began surveying the
home for the quickest way out. Before the monk could dart, the man and
woman began chanting strange words and dancing around the boy’s remains.
Slowly, the ashes began to rise and swirl about the room. A dark cloud
filled the room, causing the monk to cough uncontrollably..
When the air cleared,
the monk looked at awe as the little boy stood up, appearing unharmed but
slightly confused. The man and woman revealed the secrets of the ivory
book, explaining that it could bring back the dead. The monk masked his
bewilderment as he listened to the couple, frequently looking back at the boy,
who was now playing with a toy. Soon it was time for bed, and the monk
knew he had to flee, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the powers of the book.
When he was sure they had drifted to sleep, he quietly got up, gathered
his things, and then began searching for the book. He eventually spotted
the book, grabbed it, and then quickly snuck out of the front door, eager to
get back to his wife’s remains.
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| The Ivory Book of the Dead. Found in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City. Wikimedia Commons |
As he exited the house,
the monk heard a loud shriek, so he began to run. The noise followed him, but gradually became
quieter and eventually stopped as the monk got further from the house. When he felt he was a safe enough distance
away, the monk held the book to his chest and sat down. The monk soon dozed off, but was suddenly
awaked by a familiar voice. He looked up;
it was Coral. The book started to feel
warm on his chest - it continued to grow hotter. The monk stood up, but as soon as he opened
his mouth to call out for her, he burst into flames. The monk yelled in agony. The image of Coral disappeared as the flames
consumed him. After the monk took his
last breath, the blaze dissipated; the only trace of his presence was the ivory
book lying on the ground unscathed.
The two immoralities in my story are theft and murder. The monk steals the magical book from the family in order to attempt to bring his wife back from the dead. He's only made aware of this book's magical powers due to the demonstration of the woman using it to bring back her dead son that she brutally killed in front of him. Although the boy brought back to life, this is obviously not possible in real life, hence my haiku. The theme of an immoral alphabet comes from A Moral Alphabet by Hilaire Belloc, 1899. The letters T and M are courtesy of Maelle K on dafont.com
