Collection of Short Stories

The Mediator

 Curiosity. This was a word, the Mediator's favorite word. The mediator liked to think of himself as the most curious of all on earth; he wondered things all the time and always found an answer. His curiosity always took him on exciting adventures.

One day the Mediator was walking along the road that led to the same old house he had always lived in, atop a tall mountain. This particular day, the Mediator felt something different; it was almost like he would be able to touch the sky if he reached up high enough. If he just stood on the tip of his toes and reached as high as he could, his fingers would scrape the turning sky, maybe even graze the sun. The Mediator knew of course that he couldn't actually touch the sky like he felt he could, but that didn't stop his curiosity from spiralling. Maybe he really could touch the sky in this way. Had anyone ever tried before?

When the Mediator arrived at his home, he looked up. He was so high already from being on top of the mountain, that he was above the clouds. The clouds were thin and wispy, like they were old and running out of time just like him. Or were they just born and little newborn clouds? The Mediator decided to find out the age of the clouds below him later, as he wanted to try to touch the sky.

The Mediator lived alone. He was so inverted that speaking a word to someone was near impossible, or at least impossible without looking foolish. He cared too much about what other people thought about him and thought it rather too difficult to keep up with such things. So alone he was, and alone he stayed.

The man climbed the rickety stairs that led to the top room, where all of his treasures were located. The treasures of his many adventures that his curiosity had taken him on. He had chipped teacups and pages torn from books, old artwork, little figurines, and old toys.

In the center of the room hung a rope from the ceiling. He stopped right underneath the rope, reached a leathery wrinkled hand, grasped the old rope and yanked. The rope stretched, but did nothing more, so the old man yanked harder this time.

Dirt from the day before rained down from the ceiling as the door swung down with the rope, and skylight shone through the small opening. The Mediator pulled down the ladder and began to climb. When he was standing again, the Mediator looked towards the sky. I'm already so high, he thought to himself. One wrong step... The old man shuffled to the end of the roof and peered over the edge. Since his house was so close to the edge, the old man could see all the way down, down, until the shapes and shadows were too hard for his old eyes to distinguish. The Mediator looked towards the sky once more and slowly lifted his hand to his eyes to block the sun. The sky was so beautiful here and now. There were birds in the trees singing a cheerful song, beautiful beautiful birds. Red, blue, green; the whole rainbow of colors existed amongst the life before him, flowing and simply existing.

The man sighed and looked out over the edge again. If only he could see everything there, as it existed in that moment, like he could the nature before him. Could I? He sighed to himself again, more heavily this time, and looked out at the flowing sea of colors before him. His back was to the edge, though he seemed to care very little. The extraordinary view in front of him was mesmerizing. The man shuffled away from the edge, sighing to himself again. He walked back to the opening that led back to his house and sat down slowly. Then he heaved himself down into the house once more. He let the skylight flow into the room, despite it being somewhat cold, and admired his collection.

A slow smile formed upon his weathered face and he felt pride swell within him. This was his. All of it. Maybe tomorrow he thought to himself.

He had forgotten all about touching the sky that day; and he never did try again to touch the sky. But every day he still climbed to the top of his house and stared at the beautiful nature before him. Every day he shuffled to the end of the house to peer down the side of the mountain. And every day he had the same thought: Maybe tomorrow. Until one day the man decided to stop being so indecisive.

The next few months atop the mountain were uneventful. The birds continued singing, the flowers continued to bloom, rain still fell from the sky, and seasons continued to change; everything felt the same.

Until a group of investigators came to the mountain. They searched the man's house, top to bottom. They climbed the stairs that led to the Mediators treasury, looked around a bit and moved to the roof. The only thing to see on the roof was the woods. The investigators sighed. "Nobody's seen 'em since last year. Bank's 'bout to reclaim the house 'n there aint nob'dy to claim his stuff." The investigator, Ralph was his name, sighed and peered over the edge. "Maybe somethin' happened to 'em. Suppose we could look 'round down there jus before we leave."

With a sigh of defeat and no real answers, the men vacated the house. The last stop was at the very bottom of the mountain. It was worth a try. Maybe he got lost and couldn't find his way home?

But all they found was a pile of bones and a little figurine lost in the pile.

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Sooo... This one was one of the first short stories I wrote for the class. It's also my very first attempt at writing in third person POV!!!
We took a personality quiz and had to use our results to make a story. I wanna know if you guys can pick up on the deeper meaning, or if I need more hints or need to change anything... I'm less satisfied with this one but I have no idea what to change to make it better :/
Feedback is appreciated

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