Faded Lights: A Collection of Short Pieces

Stone People of Loxemri

TW: Grief, historic violence

A statue child stood just below Hestia's waist and was reminiscent of her own boy, Aleksy. He was 10: too young to come with, but too old to remain innocent of her absence. She still felt his small hand clenching her shirt's sleeve as she left him with her mother. What would this stone boy say to her leaving Aleksy behind? Certainly, he would tell her coming here was a mistake. There were too many corpses entombed for eternity. Too much civilization contained by nature.

She had only made it seven miles into the destruction zone, and already nearly a foot of ash made it impossible to see the smooth obsidian below her feet. Even now, the mountains surrounded her like black guardians, threatening to repeat history. Her lungs ached, despite her hazmat suit. Were her insides becoming one with the statues around her? How much ash could she take before she stopped breathing? How much could her eyes take before she went blind?

As an archeologist, Hestia sought to uncover the history before everything East of the Rosebud Strait was coated in volcanic ash. She worked at the prestigious Ouron University in labs so well-funded they could identify a piece of barley in a 100-year-old fossil, but no amount of training could've prepared her for this. She thought it'd be easy when she came her on her own to prove the university that she was worth an award too. Again and again, she'd been passed up and when she came to the dessert, she was determined to make a discovery that'd put them all to shame.

As she passed hundreds of plaster statues, Hestia cried for them, for her, and for Aleksy. During the eruptions, children ran from the city, mouths agape and arms flailing. If she excavated the stone from their mouths, would they tell her their stories? Would she even be able to listen?

Debris from the ancient civilization of Loxemri sat in piles of ash around her. She could still make out the beautiful colors and stone pillars of the once great cities.

She moved over debris as the piles led her to the center of the city where the statues of anguish turned into smiling figures. A group of five people stood in a half-circle as the breeze whipped ash into their pale, stone bodies. She slowed, unbelieving of the sight. How could they have died happily here?

Hestia focused on the center figure, envisioning a life from the details. The woman wore dozens of rings and a large pendant atop her chest. This woman, Hestia imagined, was the first to recognize they weren't making it out alive. So she stopped, picked up an Oud, and played a note. She called to the others, and they danced, holding hands. Their songs mixed with the raining ash. They let the lava and toxic gasses flow, taking them into death.

She'd come to this place to tell their stories. To bring discovery and accomplishment back to her university. She'd trained for years and left Aleksy to be here. And yet, she thought of the dancers in their last moments and the smiles upon their faces. There was nothing to uncover but the suffering of those who stand still within tragedy. She turned away from the statues—the people—and walked back the way she came.

Note: This story is about a country in the world of Echeron. It's an unpolished attempt of a 500 word flash piece that I enjoyed the idea of. I never returned to it so I thought I'd put it on here in case it's interesting to others.