Hello once again, today, something from a long overdue bunch of stories, stories that I have placed in my archive of long lost relics. Actually, stories that I just forgot and didn’t end up using for anything much. But now, I bring them back, mainly because I want to, and mainly because It’s interesting to see what I was thinking when I wrote these and what the ideas I had were back then. It’s always nice to relish on the embarrassing past you once had. This one is a bit weird, I’d say, but even I could remember what the twist was and what exactly was going on. I love weird stories, so let’s see if this one can be a great start to a weird trip down memory lane (It actually was only a few months ago that I wrote the stories that I mentioned). Here you go, “Mistaken.”
Elis looked at the gray slab with concentrated eyes. The air felt cold, and the sky was stale. Everything around her was frozen. Time had stopped, and the only thing that seemed to matter to Elis, was her own name.
The gray slab was inscribed with gold plated words. However, Elis could not make heads or tails of it. It was all ancient scripture to her. Elis leaned over to ascertain the reality of the gray slabs, but her hands felt no surface. In fact, her hands were as pale as the clouds themselves. Elis looked down to her body, but could not capture an outline. She peered into the darkened soil, and without further thoughts, had realized her predicament. Elis shook her feet, but found herself bound into place. The day grew old, and soon, Elis felt drowsy.
As Elis woke up, she saw a tall darkened figure in front of her. The man made a gesture to accentuate the shadowed garb that veiled him. Elis did not feel the least bit frightened by the man’s presence. In fact, it had almost seemed comforting.
“You seem quite quaint, or perhaps it is due to a lack of knowledge that has made you so…Obstinate,” the cloaked figure said. Elis was as empty as the sky itself. She didn’t know whether it was right to feel this way, but she knew for certain that it didn’t matter.
“I can guess that you grasp your situation?” Elis nodded. The cloaked figure reached into his pockets and manifested a slip of paper. It was no wider than a sheet of lined paper, but also no longer. The man turned the slip towards Elis; her name was written on it in red. Elis didn’t bat an eye.
“This is a slip of indictment. For your doings transcend even mortal formalities.” Elis took the slip. Her eyes told no lies, nor did her hands, nor her legs. She was as stiff as the very tombstones she stood in front of. Only she had more character.
“If you abide your crimes, you can be free,” the cloaked man said. Elis looked long and hard at the slip of paper. Each word jumped at her, almost dyslexic in nature. They formed around her and began eating at her conscience. Soon the letters became malformed. The “E” turned into a “M”, the “L” into an “O”, the “I”, into a bed and the “S” into a mathematical symbol for eternity. Elis steadied her breathing until she could talk.
“And if I don’t?” She asked.
“Those chains will never come off,” the cloaked man pointed at her legs, “Even my cut cannot mend immorality. Lest you be damned here.”
“And if I abide, surely a price would be paid anyway.” The cloaked man did not speak again. The wind was surely dry in the midday’s of hell. Elis matched the indictment with the slab. The letters were undeniably parallel.
The cloaked man stood patiently by Elis. His figure exuded omnipotence, but only to those that adorn so. To Elis, no less, but also, no more. To Elis, her faint remembrance served no more as anti thesis. And her lies were no less tragic. Elis handed the slip back to the man, who looked back in only utter confusion.
“I cannot abide by misunderstandings.” The cloaked man looked confused. There were never time when he was wrong. His line of work didn’t allow it.
“Sad to say, but you have the wrong person.”
“Surely not. Elis, isn’t it?”
“Dead, are you not?”
“Full of indictment?”
“It seems so.”
“Then surely I am not mistaken.” Elis shook her head. She continued to leave her hand out, attempting to hand back the curse. To her, the words no longer mattered. Elis as a curse, or Elis as a keepsake. They were all faded. All so black, and void of expression. Elis hated it. She wanted nothing to do with it. Nothing to do with the very murmur of it. Nothing to do with the very scent of it. After all, it was all false indoctrination.
“I will have none of it,” Elis said.
“Once again, you play me as a fool. Surely you don’t understand. Surely you do. Or perhaps, you don’t even know the fallacy of it all.”
“But I do.” Elis stood her ground. She was unwavering. She was resolute. She was sure of her situation. Elis placed the indictment on the ground, but it did not falter with the wind. It remained on the soil, forever cursed.
“I am not Elis. Nor did I want to be.” The cloaked man stood dumbfounded. Elis never spoke another word. Nor did she move. Nor did she care. Eventually, even the cloaked man left, for he knew his job was all but correct. He knew he had made a mistake. He knew not of Elis.