The Mantra
A Short Story
In the early morning of February 11th, a whisper is barely audible above the dull sound of a fog horn. A monk sits, quietly tracing spirals with his finger in the piles of ground glass in front of him. The mantra he chants would leave anyone else tongue-tied, but he recites it with such melody that it sounds like a song. In his other hand, he holds an obelisk, that begins to glow after the tenth recitation of the mantra.
The brighter the glow, the more plaintive his eyes become. He knows the consequences of this mantra, and despite his warnings, the high priest overruled him.
"You are but a saprophyte, and will do as I command." The high priest had gaffed.
The light of the glow becomes so bright, it is as though the sun is rising. As it did, the monk started convulsing. Becoming more and more violent, the monk shook with such force that the ground opened up. The disesteemed monk was swallowed into the centre of the glow; knowing that his fate was a blissful haven compared to the chaos that is to come.
About the Creator
Mollie Narutovics
Blending philosophy with experience, culture with nature, and theories with poetry.
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Comments (6)
Yikes! Had to look it up...and get even more terrified by what chaos there is to come...
Hello Mollie. Cool story. Have a great day :)
I want a lot more! Why? What’s happening with the high priest? Great story.
Remarkable job! Maintain the fantastic work—congrats!
I love the description ground glass. I hope it means sand and not something more literal.
Crikey, it started so calmly.....