The Compass That Called My Name
Microfiction on Addressing Truths
For VIM's July Challenge
The bell doesn’t toll to accuse—but to awaken.
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I awoke, surrounded by trees that were way too tall--Dendraphobia kicked in, and my head spun as if I didn't belong. Cold moss stung my feet--unwelcoming.
No birds on the branches.
Just wind singing a strange, off-key lullaby.
In my hand was a compass--that didn't direct. It spun endlessly, along with my mind.
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Then, it locked in one direction.
To a solitary bell, swinging from a branch that called--to them.
It tolled. And tolled.
Persistently. Patiently.
Not to accuse. But to remind.
Friends.
Family.
People waiting for me to answer.
It didn't want to punish; it was calling neglected memories.
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I WAS lost.
But I knew where I was.
I lost people.
That meant.
MYSELF.
I spoke to the tool in my hand:
"Take me home."
The compass didn't need to point north--it needed to point inward.
The forest became a shade greener, and the trees bent back--not to warn, but to welcome me home.
I didn't have a broken compass. I just never watched.
And so the bell tolled...for me.
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Original story by Michelle Liew. AI tags are coincidental.
About the Creator
Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin
Hi, i am an English Language teacher cum freelance writer with a taste for pets, prose and poetry. When I'm not writing my heart out, I'm playing with my three dogs, Zorra, Cloudy and Snowball.
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More stories from Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Logic and reason are not always explanation enough.
Logic and reason are not always explanation enough. Understanding is elusive He sat looking at the half empty glass but not seeing it, he was cold but not feeling it, he was in pain but not hurting from it. His mind was numb, his memory a jumble of conflicting events, as if from a nightmare but were in fact real. The phone rang for a long time before it gained his attention and then he tried to turn it off, an automatic reaction against coming back to reality. His mind preferred the numbness to anything else that was available. In this distracted state he accidentally accepted the call and put it onto speaker, the voice from the speaker jolted him into giving it his full attention. This was a call from the dead. The voice was full of concern, “where are you John, why haven’t you called, what is going on?” Even to his own ears his tone sounded subdued, defeated, “I am in the cabin, in the woods but I am OK will call you later” and he turned the phone off both ending this call and not accepting any other.
By Peter Rose4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (5)
This was so wonderfully written. The symbolism was both deep and easy to comprehend. I really loved this piece, like a breath of fresh air calling me home.
Michelle, this poem spoke to me, knocks my socks off! I had to look up Dendraphobia - no birds on trees and the tolling of the bell to bring you around to the fact the compass said you had lost your way and to look within. Brilliant!
💙
I love your deeply philosophical tales of human condition, Michelle!
A great tale on fdinding your way