Fairy tales for young and old ~ English version

The Golem of the Forgotten Village

(Storytober - Day 13 - Golem)

 Once upon a time, in a remote valley shrouded in mist, there lay a village called Kibet. It was a place once vibrant with laughter and life, where flowers bloomed in a riot of colors, and the air was sweet with the scent of home-cooked meals. But, as time wore on, the villagers began to fade away, one by one, until only silence lingered in the air.

In the center of Kibet stood a golem named Gokke, a magnificent figure made of clay and stone, crafted by the hands of a devoted artisan named Tezo. Gokke was built to protect the village, a guardian of traditions and memories. But as the villagers departed, Gokke remained behind, forgotten and alone.

Years passed, and nature reclaimed what was once vibrant. Moss crept up Gokke's legs, vines twisted around his arms, and wildflowers bloomed in vibrant hues, weaving a tapestry of beauty over his still form. He became a part of the landscape, a monument to a bygone era. The golem stood immobile, his heart of clay stilled, as the world around him changed.

One day, as the sun filtered through the clouds, casting warm rays upon the forgotten village, a gentle breeze stirred. It whispered secrets of the past, tugging at the vines that enveloped Gokke. In that moment, something deep within him began to awaken.

"What is this feeling?" he thought, his mind flickering like a flame rekindled. "What calls to me from the depths of my slumber?"

With a mighty tremor, Gokke stirred. The vines fell away, and the moss slipped from his shoulders as he blinked his eyes for the first time in years.

"Where am I?" he whispered, his voice echoing through the desolate streets. "What has become of Kibet?"

As he took his first steps, the ground beneath him crumbled in places, but Gokke pressed on, his heart aching with confusion and longing.

"I was made to protect," he murmured, gazing around at the empty homes. "But who will I protect now?"

Days turned into nights as Gokke wandered through the village. He explored the remnants of laughter and love: a swing set swaying in the breeze, a garden choked with weeds, and the faint echoes of children's giggles that danced on the wind. Yet, he could sense the weight of abandonment in every corner, a haunting silence that gripped his heart.

"So it feel like this, to be forgotten?" he pondered aloud, his voice heavy with sorrow. "To serve a purpose and yet be lost to time?"

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the village, Gokke stumbled upon a weathered bench. It was there he found a small, tattered doll, half-buried in the grass. Gently, he picked it up, the fragile fabric crumbling in his clay hands.

"You too have been left behind," he whispered, a tear—if such a thing could form from clay—glistening in his eye. "What stories do you hold?"

He placed the doll upon the bench, a tribute to the lost children of Kibet.

"I will remember you," he vowed. "I will remember all of you."

With each passing day, Gokke sought to restore the village, to breathe life back into the memories that lingered on the wind. He cleared paths, tended to the gardens, and sang songs that echoed through the empty streets. Yet, despite his efforts, the village remained quiet, a shadow of its former self.

One day, as he repaired the old well, Gokke heard a rustle in the bushes. With a sudden spark of hope, he turned to see a child peering at him, wide-eyed and curious.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice a soft melody in the stillness.

"I am Gokke," he answered, his heart leaping with joy. "I am the guardian of this village. I have awoken to find it lost, but I will not give up on it."

"Lost?" the girl echoed, a frown creasing her brow. "But no one lives here anymore. It's just a place for stories."

"Every place has a story," Gokke replied, kneeling down to meet her gaze. "And every story deserves to be remembered. Will you help me bring them back?"

The girl's eyes sparkled with wonder. "I will! I can tell my friends about you! I will tell them about Kibet!"

And so it began. The girl ran back to her home, her heart full of excitement, and soon, whispers spread through the nearby towns. Children came with laughter, carrying bright flowers to adorn Gokke and the village. They played in the streets, their joy reverberating through the once-quiet homes.

With each smile and every laugh, Gokke felt his heart swell. The vines that had once grown around him began to recede, replaced by the warmth of connection.

"You are not forgotten," he whispered to the village, to the children who had breathed life into it once more. "You are loved."

As the seasons changed, Kibet transformed. No longer just a memory, it became a sanctuary of laughter and love. Gokke learned that abandonment could be healed, that purpose could be found even in the depths of solitude. Slowly, some new people came back to live here.

And so, the village thrived, a testament to the resilience of the heart. Gokke stood tall among the blooming flowers, a guardian not only of Kibet but of the memories that lived within each soul.

In the end, they all discovered a simple truth: to be forgotten is not an end, but a chance to be remembered anew. And together, they forged a future filled with hope, love, and the promise of never being alone again.