My Father


My father had been a wise man. The earth had been shaking and moving beneath our sandaled feet for many moons when he suddenly fell ill with a fever we could not heal.

In his fever he spoke of many things to us as my sisters and I gathered around his bedside; his pale green linen sheets soaked with sweat.

One night, a new star had suddenly appeared in the sky. He had bade me to open a ornate chest by his bed that we had always been forbidden to open as children. I opened it to reveal a golden cup. Take the cup he whispered hoarsely to me and let the light of your mother to touch it.

I went to the window holding the cup aloft. The wind stirred as a single ray of light suddenly engulfed me from that star. It radiated throughout my entire being. My father knew, it was not the cup he wanted my mother to fill, but my soul.

When the light disappeared from wence it came the cup had vanished from my hands and I was left with the scent of my mother on my robes.

I looked upon my father, so frail against his pillows. His eyes suddenly became clear and I understood the power does not leave us when we die. Our souls carry it with the knowledge of how to pass it on to others, and a mother’s bond to her child is eternal. My father looked at me, and he smiled.



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