Departure Song
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Departure Song
(Original fiction; comments and criticism are encouraged. Thank you!)
I.
Portsall was often called the Departure Town by the few fortunate enough to know of it. The town inconspicuously took comfort in its own solace, often isolating itself from the rest of the world, embraced by the ocean. The village was a reflection of this: unscathed marble-colored roads ambled neatly throughout the port, villagers wandered the town with warmth in their hearts, the gentle sea breeze delicately wove through the island's abundant flora.
The world was completely hidden from the Departure Town. Since its discovery, it had been a refuge for those seeking complacency and enlightenment. Philosophers, heretics, and deviants had all made their way to Portsall as a transcendence from the outside world, where the commonwealth had not progressed far enough to accept their lifestyles. Portsall was run entirely by the thinking man.
This island was the only world Sabine Stene had ever known in her sixteen years. She moved here with her father, Martin, when she had been not even a year old. When she asked him why he had decided to move to Portsall, he always responded with the same answer:
“Sabine, there are people out there who dislike the way we think. Some people see the world in a million shades of gray, some people see only black and white, and still there are others that can see a large spectrum of color: blues, greens, reds. Some people see these colors as a... threat.”
Sabine had always hated it when her father talked like that. There were no such things as simple answers in her father's mind—only metaphoric, convoluted answers that were not really answers at all.
Today Sabine sat on a small green bench underneath the infamous Portsall Lighthouse, the pride of the entire village. She couldn't help but feel like a small animal as she gazed up towards the structure's peak. She weaved her fingers through her long red hair—clearly in anticipation—as she rested her feet on smooth sand.
“Oh, good. You're here.”
Sabine turned around to see her best friend since childhood, Adrienne, approaching. Her thick brown hair radiated in the sun, almost blinding anyone brave enough to look straight at it.
“Sabine!” she said as she made her way to the bench.
“Hi, Adrienne. Do you have the...?”
“Yes, yes,” Adrienne replied as she reached into her small black tote bag. “Here it is.”
She held onto a small piece of parchment that had certainly not aged well—parts of it were torn off completely, and the crease used to conceal its contents had begun to rip as well.
“My name is Merlin Vergess,” Adrienne read aloud as she unfolded the parchment. “I thank you very much for taking the time to read this note. By doing so, you have shown that you bear a heart more genuine than the cold stone-throwers that have refused to hear me out. I imagine that by the time somebody besides myself reads this, I will be long gone. I will have Departed, if you will.
“I want to share something with you. As you may already know, I am (was?) one of the original founders of Portsall. This world free from the scorn of society is my vision. But it's twisted. This is not what I wanted at all.”
Adrienne looked up from the parchment at Sabine. “Do you want me to keep reading?”
Sabine knew what was coming next. She let out a deep sigh, knowing what would come next. “Just... read it.”
“They want to kill you. They've already killed me, and they're going to kill you, too. Nobody can stop them. They have defied the world thrice already. They have complete power. Both of them.”
Adrienne took a deep breath before reading the final sentence.
“Isaac Vergess and Martin Stene are cold-blooded murderers.”
(Original fiction; comments and criticism are encouraged. Thank you!)
I.
Portsall was often called the Departure Town by the few fortunate enough to know of it. The town inconspicuously took comfort in its own solace, often isolating itself from the rest of the world, embraced by the ocean. The village was a reflection of this: unscathed marble-colored roads ambled neatly throughout the port, villagers wandered the town with warmth in their hearts, the gentle sea breeze delicately wove through the island's abundant flora.
The world was completely hidden from the Departure Town. Since its discovery, it had been a refuge for those seeking complacency and enlightenment. Philosophers, heretics, and deviants had all made their way to Portsall as a transcendence from the outside world, where the commonwealth had not progressed far enough to accept their lifestyles. Portsall was run entirely by the thinking man.
This island was the only world Sabine Stene had ever known in her sixteen years. She moved here with her father, Martin, when she had been not even a year old. When she asked him why he had decided to move to Portsall, he always responded with the same answer:
“Sabine, there are people out there who dislike the way we think. Some people see the world in a million shades of gray, some people see only black and white, and still there are others that can see a large spectrum of color: blues, greens, reds. Some people see these colors as a... threat.”
Sabine had always hated it when her father talked like that. There were no such things as simple answers in her father's mind—only metaphoric, convoluted answers that were not really answers at all.
Today Sabine sat on a small green bench underneath the infamous Portsall Lighthouse, the pride of the entire village. She couldn't help but feel like a small animal as she gazed up towards the structure's peak. She weaved her fingers through her long red hair—clearly in anticipation—as she rested her feet on smooth sand.
“Oh, good. You're here.”
Sabine turned around to see her best friend since childhood, Adrienne, approaching. Her thick brown hair radiated in the sun, almost blinding anyone brave enough to look straight at it.
“Sabine!” she said as she made her way to the bench.
“Hi, Adrienne. Do you have the...?”
“Yes, yes,” Adrienne replied as she reached into her small black tote bag. “Here it is.”
She held onto a small piece of parchment that had certainly not aged well—parts of it were torn off completely, and the crease used to conceal its contents had begun to rip as well.
“My name is Merlin Vergess,” Adrienne read aloud as she unfolded the parchment. “I thank you very much for taking the time to read this note. By doing so, you have shown that you bear a heart more genuine than the cold stone-throwers that have refused to hear me out. I imagine that by the time somebody besides myself reads this, I will be long gone. I will have Departed, if you will.
“I want to share something with you. As you may already know, I am (was?) one of the original founders of Portsall. This world free from the scorn of society is my vision. But it's twisted. This is not what I wanted at all.”
Adrienne looked up from the parchment at Sabine. “Do you want me to keep reading?”
Sabine knew what was coming next. She let out a deep sigh, knowing what would come next. “Just... read it.”
“They want to kill you. They've already killed me, and they're going to kill you, too. Nobody can stop them. They have defied the world thrice already. They have complete power. Both of them.”
Adrienne took a deep breath before reading the final sentence.
“Isaac Vergess and Martin Stene are cold-blooded murderers.”