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|The Death of Inspiration (standard:horror, 516 words)|
|Author: jopoguerrero||Added: Jul 22 2008||Views/Reads: 1802/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
Once upon a time, Inspiration was a person – not a mere opinion or notion or impression. In fact, she was a very beautiful woman: with a face so angelic and a body so magnetic. And oh, she smelled of a bath of flowers, so sweet and fresh that even the grumpiest of all beings would swoon at her slightest whiff. Inspiration was not only physically gifted. She was also a fount of virtues – kindness, humility, patience, charity, purity and all other blessings of intrinsic worth. Yes, Inspiration was heavenly, inside and out. Yet, she died a horrible death. Inspiration lived in Independence, a small village on top of a ridge which was inhabited by a handful of families. The residents of Independence strictly lived an unwritten policy of to each his own – they took care of their own family; they watched over their own livelihood; they strengthened their own house; and they minded their own business. Since Inspiration lived alone in her house, she felt the brunt of such a cold-shoulder culture – well, she had pets and plants, but she wanted to talk to humans for a change. Thus, she seriously tried to reach out to her neighbors. But, Inspiration failed. When she talked to the men, the women called her slut. When she talked to the women, the men called her a cause of sloth. When she talked to the children, the parents called her witch. When she tried to sup with the families, they accused her of gluttony. Eventually, her neighbors decided to keep their doors and windows locked all day and all night to get rid of Inspiration's socialization attempts. However, Inspiration was relentless. She kept on coming back, kept on knocking, kept on ignoring insults and kept on communicating. One late afternoon, while again searching for someone to talk to, a couple of big wolves from nowhere madly and devilishly rushed toward Inspiration. It was no use to run - it would just force them to increase their speed. Inspiration shouted for help. No door opened. She cried for help. Not a window gaped. She pleaded for help. Not a soul responded. The wolves reached Inspiration with frothing fangs. And in just half a moment, they furiously pinned her on the ground. Blood spurted as the animals riotously gnawed her head, face, neck and limbs. Inspiration died watching pieces of herself being interred in the bellies of the beasts. The beasts were still slumped dining on Inspiration when the people finally decided to check on what was happening – shock enveloped the people of Independence. They tried to recover what was left of her, but the wolves dragged and brought the body with them back to the hills. The violent death of Inspiration sank deep in the minds of the people of Independence. And in order to wash off their guilt, they made special offerings to her lost spirit – offerings in all forms of skills, competence and talents. But even in our time, despite the mountains of offerings made by hundreds of generations, man still suffers the guilt for the death of Inspiration. Tweet
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