A Cold Distance
Mikhail searches for consolation.
The roof of St Nikolai felt like a shirt that had outgrown him. Mikhail struggled to find a comfortable spot to lay down, with a lantern as his only guide in the dark. Every time he sat, the roof felt rough and stone cold. Even in the sharpest winters, he would stay for hours. Yet ever since the skyrate attack, St. Nikolai kept its distance.
Nevertheless, Mikhail settled for a place between the onion domes. The wind seemed extra dry, but he insisted on staying. Now, more than ever, he needed to stargaze. It suddenly dawned on him that he was at the very spot Iosef found him over ten years ago.
This was the place the Archimandrite encouraged him to analyze the stardust. The man who opened his mind to the heavens, and provided all the books he needed to understand what was above and beyond Rusvia.
Mikhail’s memories recalled the bell of St. Nikolai ringing in distress. His memories of that night replayed: The skyrate turning towards Iosef with a mocking grunt. His fruitless attacks on the invader, followed by the cracking collision of his skull. The last vision was Iosef’s blood spilled on the floor.
Mikhail cursed his memory, slamming his fists on the roof in front of him. He panted as if he had used up the last reserves of his lungs, followed by a deep sob. When he settled, he looked up to the skies, now generously showing off the stars. He searched for answers, but instead received another memory with Iosef. Shortly before the attack, they were sharing tea in the Archimandrite’s study room. That night the world seemed to have slowed, making way for Iosef’s concerns to be heard.
“You keep yourself busy by fulfilling tasks for the people. You certainly could do much worse with your time, and it is very noble to be of service to others. But I worry that you are growing stagnant. You are not falling to vice, but you are not thriving in virtue either.
There is a divine purpose for all of us, but we must be courageous enough to seek it. You are meant for more than what was handed to you.”
Back in the present, Mikhail recognized a cluster of stars in the shape of a teapot. Reaching above his index, he traced the stars beside the handle of the teapot, making out the shape of an archer.
The symbol of higher aspirations.
Mikhail laid down with a sigh, exhausted from his memories. He felt his dark hair billowing in the cold wind, and his eye lids weighing down. Before he surrendered to sleep, he thought of the hollow loss left behind from what was stolen, and a quiet spark within himself to bring them back.
Thank you for reading! This was inspired by Scoot’s Flash Fiction Friday for March 21st, using the following prompts:
Write about stargazing
cold distance
It’s been a minute since I’ve written anything related to my Skyrates story, so it’s nice to revisit my main character and explore his “call to adventure.”