Photo via Google Maps
I shrink farther beneath my hood. Just another pilgrim. Stretching my senses for her, my hope wilts. As though she’d actually be here, unlike the last hundred places.
It was a good guess, though: the temple where it all began. The original was torn down two centuries ago, and a heathen one built over it, and another atop that. Only the garden plinths remain. I remember the statues of prophets they held, and the last prophet, our Eq. They leveled his first, when we failed.
I should leave a note. I locate her favorite, the statue she and Urlan used to hide behind. With a glowing finger I sign my current location. My finger twitches, miming the sign for love. With Urlan dead, why shouldn’t I…?
Someone shouts, asks what I’m doing. I shamble away from the seemingly untouched stones.
Maybe it’s best. Something unsaid for so long grows unsayable.
Word count: 150. Written for this week’s What Pegman Saw challenge. Thanks as always to Karen and Josh for hosting. This week Pegman takes us to Varanasi, India. Click on the link to see what other interesting parts of the area other writers were inspired by, and maybe you’ll be inspired to write your own story!
This character is someone from a much longer short story I’m currently revising, with a long and fairly complicated history, only a small slice of which is hinted at here. I’m curious to see how this is interpreted and how much of his story comes across.