The Dead Line

Author’s note: This story was first published under the Creative Commons license in 2007 in honor of the International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day. Inspired by the song, “Somebody For Someone” by The Corrs, it was about a year from conception to execution.

In the endless twilight between life and the hereafter, where the dead walk the line, there is room for a compassionate heart.

Aralynn measures out sugar for the souls as the pallid spirits file by. One by one they shuffle towards their destinations, leaving the remnants of what they once were in a pile beside her.

They hold out receptacles for her to fill - battered tin cups, a small wooden bowl, sometimes only their two hands cupped together. They speak softly of their heartaches, laying their burden at her feet on their way to heaven or hell - the structure a belief system of a lifetime has constructed.

“She caught me with another woman,” mumbles a young man dressed in a tattered brown jacket. His fingers move restlessly over the buttons of a lifeless cell phone. His eyes are captured by Aralynn’s calm demeanor. “I didn’t mean it.” He holds out a coffee mug as he throws his cell phone on the pile of artifacts.

“I understand,” she murmurs as she measures the sugar in deliberate movements. Drifts of crystal white heap around her feet, powder her dark hair until it twinkles like tiny stars.

Micah comes before her, head bowed and hands clasped. He is different from the pale dead - his red hair and the blue of his shirt are vibrant against the grey and misty landscape. He raises his head and his hazel eyes make her think of roses calling, singing.

He holds out his hand and she is helpless to do other than take it. She closes her eyes and they are flying through the moonless night. Aralynn forgets the measured sugar, the whispered heartbreak that piles up like the artifacts and eats her from the inside out. The wind blows fiercely and she welcomes the sting of freshness, her hand warm in his. Soul cankers are healed in Micah’s loving embrace.

She opens her eyes to his gentle gaze and their hands unclasp. “You must go,” she tells him, “And I must bide.”

He smiles with promises unspoken but understood. He leans towards her and kisses her diamond tears. The next soul steps up as Micah departs, never far, never for long.

“I drowned my mother,” moans the dead man as he throws a briefcase on the mountain of artifacts. Aralynn whispers acknowledgment as she measures her sugar, fingers delicate and precise. She thinks of hazel eyes and roses singing.

****

The Dead Line by Annetta Ribken is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at www.journalscape.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.wordwebbing.com.