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Here are the posts for the topic 'depression' from my mailing list, Fantasybits.
by JacLyn Jones (jasujo@hotmail.com)
He fingered the gold coin in his hand, an urgent breeze blowing through his chestnut hair. The warm sunlight sparkled off the coin, its leather thong dangling over the sides of his palm. His thumb retraced the embossed likeness of his father on its face, a familiar movement. Gregory studied the stone doors in front of him. They were perfectly camouflaged with the surrounding mountain side, hidden in a shallow alcove, covered over with verdant shrubbery.
It had taken Gregory an hour to clear a way through the brush, two days to travel up the mountain path, and his entire lifetime to research the old legend. He stepped forward, the grass making a soft hush, as if whispering, and a small dandelion brushing against his calf. An eagle screech was heard in the distance and was chased by the rush of wind. The heat of the sun pervaded everything with life. Gregory tentatively raised a hand and lightly brushed the dirt from one of the adjoining walls. He slowly traced the revealed runes with his index finger. As meaning and believement set in, he stepped back, his hand still poised in the air.
“This is it,” the man whispered incredulously. He stood there, motionless, speechless, all his trials running through his head. His eyes closed and a deep breath entered his lungs. Realization that the culmination of his quest rested before him brought him to look at the runes again. Some were worn and faded from the ancient pass of time. Others called to him, as if his eyes could see nothing else. He could make out . . . Test, . . . Strength, . . . Endurance, . . . Reward. His mind ran through all the possibilities. He remembered nothing of a test.
Excitement rushed through every vein and his body trembled. Gregory rested his forehead against the cool doors. He opened his arms and embraced them. Only the clink of metal against stone revived him. A hand brushed against an unconformity in the solid surface. His mouth formed a slow smile as he looked down at his treasured heirloom. The image of his father regarded him with a quiet gaze, the coin shimmering in the scattered light.
Gregory hesitated, to savor the moment, and then placed the coin into the shallow depression. It fit perfectly. The man exhaled. He waited a moment, his hand still resting on the key, every second an eternity. The silence surrounded him as a blanket from the world.
Suddenly, a force exploded through his hand and his head shot back. He tried frantically to remove his touch from the embedded coin, but he was stuck fast. It was not pain, but extreme power that surged through him. Gregory froze, not able to move. His body was overwhelmed with sheer emotion. The coin sunk into the stone and the doors slowly opened. A cool mist rolled out of the aperture and carefully enveloped him. Unsurpassable pleasure sparked in him wherever the mist landed. It gently tugged him into the yearning depths of the blackened passage behind the doors.
As the last thread of mist withdrew into the cave, Gregory already engulfed, the doors slammed shut. Silence was heard. Then a sharp cry pierced the air. It was not of fear, or pain, but composed of pure passion. Gregory had failed the test. Silence once again filled the air.
The doors separated just far enough to release the golden coin that rolled past. It rode its edge a little way, then traveled in a circle until it slowed and laid in the grass. Sounds of life returned.
A bird’s eye caught the sparkle and it swooped to grasp it. The coin was carried higher and higher into the air, over mountainside and valley. When the bird had arrived at its nest, it dropped its prize and flew off in search of others. The coin bounced on the edge of the intricate straw entanglement and fell to the ground, where a dog playfully nipped it up and brought it home. The dog scratched on its master’s door and laid the object on the mat, before once again running off.
An elderly woman opened her door and looked around. The shining coin sat on her doorstop, looking up at her.
“So, you’ve come back,” she said with a grim smile. “Poor Gregory.” She sighed, picked up the heirloom, and closed her door. The woman walked to a tall cabinet in her outer hall and unlatched the glass doors. She pulled out a small bronze box and carefully opened it. She gently placed the coin pendant on the emerald velvet cushion and closed the box. “Well, you will just have to be given to the next son born on the full moon. Maybe he will fulfill the quest.” She sighed again and returned to her kitchen.
The woman sat on her wooden stool and picked up a peeling knife in one hand and a potato in the other. She recommenced her interrupted task. Under her breath she said, “If only they’d learn patience.”
Outside a bird wheeled in the sky, a dog chased its shadow and an expectant woman walked past the old lady’s home. She unconsciously rubbed her stomach, smiling, dreaming of the child yet to come.
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