A not to so short, short story (Furnace of Soul)

Victor Pierce

Furnace of Soul

“Ahh, I ain’t she a beauty the freshly risen sun, what's left of the inhabitants getting baked, to rise again and be fresh out of the oven, freshly rising to meet a new day. The mid-morning sun sitting perched at what would appear to be half-mass, but there were no traumatic event just waking from a dormancy, ready to rise and explode full of guilt and unjust. The morning air fresh and alluring, the wind gently flowing through me, a breath of fresh air, but I can’t help but distill that  its all a setup for a mid-morning snare, we could all sit here in defeat and keep repeating the words murmured by the face within, continuing on progresses untimely demise. I’ll try and dissipate all the falsified actions that could be horrendous, but I’m just putting on the wardens cap, incriminating myself, and desensitizing every little action, Your emotion is just a reaction to the preceding days actions, and I’m feeling lethargic, so don’t try and guard  it because I’m going to conquer my demons. If finding myself is the key, then I’m stripped lock. And this plain of incantation has drove me over the cliff and up.  I thank you for another day”. Sark.

Well it wasn’t much but it was all Sarkovan had. He’d been happily living on the carpathian stream for quite awhile, quite impressing I might add. Living on the sustenance of the earth, and what was given to him.  But what was he trying to accomplish? He’d sat there knee deep in the stream everyday at the sametime stagnant, but he was never discouraged, he woke up everyday with brokenness, ready to repair and went emphatically, everywhere. The Aspen trees leaves were green and lively, and the stream was seamlessly innocent, flowing gently, caressing the timeless rocks, sediments and Sark.

The bushes rustled, shshuush. Sarkovan seemed startled like a mousetrap just went off, and the only thing caught pray, was you.

A voice rang out, as a silhouette began to appear, the only thing in sight was the rounded exterior of the mans hood and a mild glimpse of the right side of his face. Sark had jumped out of his skin and sought after the nearest enshrouding. The mysterious silhouette had soon passed through the stream and without hesitation Sarkovan leaped from his enshrouding, lead footed,

He grabbed the worker from behind, afraid of being apprehended. One hand over his mouth and one arm tucked firmly around his neck.

“Come with me, I have something to show you.”

“mmmummm.”

“Stop, silence yourself, before you alert the patrolmen.”

“What, wh- what are you...”

“Lower your voice, your young, youthful.”

“I’..m.. going to report you to the warden”

“Look I’m trying to cause no harm.

“Then why is your arm fixated around my neck”

“I’m not apart of you, this.”

Sarkovan released his firm grip around his neck, and both figures stood, with a stare, icy and still staring through each others, deepest darkness.  

“Don’t you worry where your next meal’s coming from”

“I’ve long given up on satisfaction”

“Hmmm yeah. Wha, wh, whaddya mean?

“I’ve seen what this world has to offer and it’s not for me.”

“How can you be sure”.

“I’ve learned listening to your gut will do you no harm.”

“You..yo..u are the problem holding us back.”

“Listen to yourself, you’re not “home” you’re just another able body and Apparition of your self, starving for essence.”

And as Sark began to close the distance to get a closer look. The illusive patron jetted back down the way he came. While Sark simply sat there in disbelief. He sat there enthralled in the fact he has just been stumbled upon, by some younger soul.

“What made tonight special, I’ve been staying here since the snow ceased, last season, and the god-forsaken worker bees stumbleupon me now.”

And he began sloshing around in the stream, disregarding the nature of the situation, he wasn’t worried about being caught or what might come as a result. And the sloshing ceased, Sark stood still, in amazement of the chilled waters and the moons passive positioning, high above him, watching his every move.

“What am I’m doing! So I’m discovered by one person, whats to say they’re going to let loose to his higher ups and come after me. No, no focus on what's important”.

He caught sight of his ever wind-logged destiny and pulled himself back down to earth and refocused his aim.

“I need to preserve my writings, if I deserve to write it, its worth something to be heard.”

He gathered up his methodical and meticulous scribbles and trudged higher up the mountain where he could once again temporarily settle down, where the worker-bees could never find him.. He laid his writings down in the rocky crevice, secure of the elements, proceeded to the base of a tree and drifted off to sleep under the sparkling night canvas.

“Goodnight Father.”

The mysterious figure, ran all the way down the mountain, to his commanding officers quarters, as the moon set perched in the blanket of the night-sky. The cold stark walls of the wardens office were impeding. The barren plain office, like the great plains there wasn’t anything there, it was just the being there, but there was nothing special about it.

“Sera..Serya.. Seryagoya.”

“Gera, take a deep breath and let it out, for goodness sake.”

“Serayagoya, I went up the mounta-.”

“Wait which one”.

“The one southeast of the Crimean Riven-.”

“Look spit it out, its the middle of the night, your lucky I’m speaking to you.”

“Sorry sir, the one that the Carpathian stream sets upon.”

“Why were you up there, thats not where you were assigned.”

“But, Sir liste-.”

He grasps the side of Gera’s head mostly of his ear.

“Look, you have these for a reason, if you don’t use ‘em, you don’t need ‘em”.

“Please hear me ou-”.

Gripping his ear in his palm, he tugs him towards the door.

“I’ll speak to you in the morning, be here bright and early, not a moment too soon.”

Gera shakes his head in comprehension and disappointedly wallows out of Seryagoya’s bone-cold office, rubbing his throbbing ear, mumbling under his breath.

“Well why can just listen for a first.”

The next day Gera reported to Seryagoya’s office as commanded, hoping it was the right time.

With a feeble knock, Gera, was issued in.

“Good morning sir.”

“Skip the mundane small talk and greetings, you’re here for a reason, aren’t you?

“Yes sir, I saw something, I’m not sure what, but he forcefully grabbed me around the neck and,”.

“Thats nice boy, you ever heard the story of Yurek, by God wasn’t he something. He could lead anyone, his glorious iron fist, got us here.”

“Sir I was trying to tell you something.”

“Listen boy you might learn something if you’d listen!”

Gera winces at Seryagoya as he motions towards him.

“My father, was a natural born-leader. best damn leader on this side of the Atlantic”. You best be getting of to work boyyo.”

Gera sighs a deep long breath and heads out towards the steel-mill, to begin his daily shift.

“If I can see this man on the mountain once, maybe he can listen to me.”

The day began to settle in. The sun was perched straight above the earth. Gera finished his work  with a newfound energy, like he was in two places at once. He finished his work abruptly In hopes he’d be able to stumble upon the man on the mountain once again.Trudging up the mountain, Gera whistled a sweet tune to pass the time. Gera had once again returned to the place where Sarkovan had once stayed, but there was nothing there. Gera, out of frustration sat down, right next to the lush stream.

He sat and listened to the stream ceremoniously wash down, but it wasn’t anything of importance to him. He contemplated Seryagoya’s harsh words and began to feel the resentment sink in.

“Why, why couldn’t I have sat down with this man last night. It was here by the stream that the man had once stayed. Maybe If I could see him once more, if only I had another opportunity.”

Gera unsure of where to go next, to find Sark. Lollygagged down the mountain. Past the aspen Trees back to good ol’ St. Petersburg. He was irritated and frustrated and it was evident, his scowl a mile wide. He arrived back at camp, laid on his dull cot, he’d seen no greater interest in the day and mosied off to an unsatisfying sleep.

While Sark awoke to the freshly risen sun he flipped through one of his favored writings and began to peruse over it.

You’ve never spoke up before, when we  sluggishly glazed by, and we were catching on to all the fun plans, we were in each others hands. We laughed, we played, but you were the outcast among us, are kind words and childish laughter was an indirect spit in the face. We were the makings of many and you were the byproduct of one, but why did it take me so long to grow ears equipped to your frequency. I’ve walked through here a good few hundred times, but I couldn’t ever find you. You’d leave an imprint in your displaced sand, but I’m just a man and I’ve never even seen the dirt that displayed me. Why all of a sudden now. Instead of chasing something of worth, I’m changing something thats nothing. This dirt can tell no lies its withered and old, but continually tries, just by swiveling it between my palms, I’m flipping through its novel and it’s showing me. And even the the memories aren’t vivid and there a little choppy, walking past you is guiding me on a timeline and all this time your were holding back all these secrets, catching my peak of interest and all of a sudden of the eyes to see you, caressing your grittiness, I gently let you slip through my fingers, so someone else can read this dirty book.” Sark.

He finished immersing himself and began to scan his new surroundings.

The grass wasn’t living but it wasn’t dead. It was a place he could settle for. He rewrapped his writing with a scrap wire and put it back in the sheltered crevice. Sark had time to spare. He was a lean figure, didn’t eat much. He began to rummage through his small  bag to find a pen to record his thoughts.

“I know my days wearily carry on and they’re running few, but you’ll soon call me home when my road ceases and I am to meet you face to face, but I need to make use of this time. Those lost below working, for the sake of enough food, enough water, enough to clog ones soul. Father give me the strength to enact change on the worker bees below. They need it.

He packed his logbook, and shoved the unkempt paper in his pocket and went down the Mountain. The mountain that had his identity, the liquid that trickled from his spirit, and the many words prayed to his father above. He passed his old place of inhabitant and the stream still ran down smoothly. He plunged his hands into the blue waters, and washed his face. Sark, sped away from home down to the frontlines.The large encampment of the worker bees was lacking life, essence. The aspens that once grew here were chopped down fueling the fire, consumed by progress. Sarkovan walked to the front-gate. At the front of the camp, he peaked in and saw the worker-bees tirelessly working for a cause they never knew. “ How can people lose themselves to fuel the demon of the stomach, its never content with anything, like a furnace just burns and burns, you eat and satisfy your stomach just to  fulfill yourself day after day. God have mercy. “ Sark went into the camp, eyes fixed straight on Seryagoya’s barren office they had long since gotten along, since Sarkovan had oce abandon this already lost cause. Sarkovan saw the men running back and forth and easily crept into Seryagoya’s office. He entered with force.

“Who the hell do you think.. By God you're still alive.”

“Seyagoya, lay down your ruling fist, I am change, change is about.”

Seryagoya lets out a big sigh out of lack of respect, and continues. “Look at you, you’re an old washed up has-been. Your days of greatness are over, and that was a pill to hard for you to swallow. Wasn’t it?

Sarkovan continues pressing Seryagoya out of concern. “You never understood, with your progress you never cared about these men. You never cared that their souls are being bled dry and sucummbed at your furnace so you can have a sense of sustainability.”

“Sark, would you give it a rest, there's nothing wrong with a little sacrifice, its the price, they pay.”

“And you're just gonna sit here on your piss poor throne, like your the almighty. You can push sheep around, because they know not what you do, but I’ve seen, and I’ve overcome. Try pushing around a man that hasn’t been defanged.”

Sark closes the space in between them, with rage and unrest, he stares into his icy cold blue eyes and firmly places both hands on his desk.

“Always swift. Swift in life as in death.” Seryagoya pulls a gun, and aims it straight for Sarkovan’s knee. He wanted him to suffer.

“You’ve never ceased to amaze me ol friend, you never knew when you were pushing the boundaries Sark, and I always secretly loved that about you. I knew Gera had confrontation with you. I pawned it off as nothing, so none of the livestock would be harmed, in the fight for Alpha male.

“ You’ve seen little Sera, you know what's happening with your livestock, but you are blinded when it comes to what's out there. There is no Alpha dog, I’m not here on a pride trip. I’m here to expound and dissipate the darkness that has befallen this land and befallen these people.

“I’m responsible for a small amount of people I can break in, like a stallion. I need not what's out there because, I have my livestock and they’ve mended me a fresh set of wings.”

“Sera, you never wanted help and I was here with you, but you you tried to bleed me dry. You're nothing but a passing breeze on the face of the Atlantic. A mosquito, a gaping insolence  plaguing these people. Seryagoya walks over to Sark, gun still out, both poised like two scorpions. Standing nose to nose.”

“What’ll it be Sark.”

“You can always lead a horse to water, but you can’t make em drink. My efforts are unsuccessful with you, but theres about twenty others out there I can try my hand at.

“Sarkovan.”

He proceeds towards the door.

“I can save at least one person from your hellish furnace”.

“Sark. Sarkovan!”

Sarkovan lays his hand on the door and it begins to open. Seryagoya’s pistol goes off echoing in the hollowness of his office, thundering throughout the camp.

“Sark you're not ruining everything my father and I have created!”

Sark raspily responds, he collapses the floor, sitting in his own blood.

“ehyheh! You think by crippling me, the fire that's been burning so long on your strung up facades is going to be extinguished. Your name will be long forgotten as your furnace burns itself out.”

“Sark, you're in no position to question my great name. The Borovsky name will live forever.”

Seryagoya lifts his gun up from his side and aims it right between Sark’s eyes.

Another loud crash and echo is heard as Seryagoya fires another shot and misses just high of his head.

“Seryagoya, when I left from atop the mountain, the mountain  that expressed openness, and accepted me like my heavenly father. I’ve loaned this mountain my sustenance and my days are running thin.  My father smiles upon me with the strength of Samson. My busted knee punches the hole on my one way ticket, I’ve seen and I’ve overcome.

Gera rushes into the office laying eyes on both Seryagoya as well as Sarkovan. Sarkovan is pressed against the wall adjacent to the door. Gera realizes what's going on and steps out of the huge puddle from the wound in Sarkovan’s knee.

Seryagoya, interrupts Gera as he begins to speak.

“Leave Gera, you have no place in this utmost matter.”

Short of breath, Sarkovan responds in short raspy sentences. “You. I saw you a couple. A couple nights ago. You were the shadowy figure I grabbed.”

Gera replies with a wavering sense of awe. “Please let me help you.”

Seryagoya fiendishly replies,”Gera leave unless you wanna end in the same fate.”

Sarkovan interjects. “Gera leave and take this with you.” Sark takes out the logbook that contained all of Sark’s scribbles. They were slightly smudged, because,the pages had absorbed  some of the puddle.

“Please, I can’t you leave in this state.”

“Look. Gera, my time runs short. Take this, I have a few things left. Left just a mile or so up from the Carpathian stream where we ran into each other. Take this. And go there. Its next to some aspen trees, between a granite rock and some limestone, you’ll find the remaining pieces of my logbook.

Sark reaches down and pulls out the crumpled, unkempt blood-soaked note, and said “read this, its my last writing.

Gera leaves. His mind not fully made up. He didn’t know what to do. But he was given final orders by a man whose heartbeat is wavering.

Seryagoya stands there, still poised like a scorpion.

While Gera is exiting the camp, he hears shot, after, shot ring out. He takes one final look at the steel mill, Sera’s barren office and abandons the life he knew. Gera walked up the steep mountain as he  passes Sark’s old place of rest. He notices  the stream, it ministered to him. He follows his directions to the letter. “About a mile up from my where we ran into each other.” Gera unsure of what he’d find continued up the mountain, stone by stone, foothold by foothold. He sees the treeline and begins rummaging around “Granite and Limestone, right?”

“Sprinting from death as it chased me down. I tripped on treasure stuck in the ground.The fall was hard, it laid me low, It was the treasure lifted me by its glow.On my knees, I considered its worth. Twas not material or all the earth. Its contents were all I ever needed:Love, acceptance Unconditional Grace and healing, In the physical sense. In my joy, I limped back home Liquidated all the things I own, To inhabit the ground, that tripped my step. And live a life Where needs are met. Where Jesus is kingand life, is full.“

As Gera began to read, he learned of a holy creed.

The End