By Justin Bugayong
Before Fate deemed Mortimer cursed, he was known across the land as an impeccable, self-assured wordsmith. Growing up in the only library in the land, he developed a keen sense for translating mystical, high ideas into beautiful poetry and powerful prose. His ambitious dream to capture all of life’s mysteries onto paper and open a library of books towering high with his own works would normally be considered outlandish and downright impossible, but for him it seemed inherent and merely a matter of time. As farmland teems rich with crops during the peak of harvest season, so too did Mortimer’s mind with creative endeavors, so much so, many would consider his mind the most fertile with a seemingly never-ending harvest. He spent his days (and especially his nights) writing toward his dream, gleaning the bountiful ideas in his mind. Two things served most to inspire Mortimer’s talent to convey the abstract into the tangible: the mysteries of the world and the one he met under the full moon.
Mortimer’s favorite nightly haunt hid on the outskirts of the village near a lonely pond enveloped by overgrown ruins. Cracked artifacts, overprotective vines and the shadows of once-structures lent an air of ancient history. A place once existed here, one possibly of importance, but it has since fallen to time. If the place served its purpose to completion or expired too soon, only Fate knew. At night, stars peeked behind billowing pillars of clouds as if teasing gazers to the secrets hidden behind. The moon simultaneously held high, hushing the hinting stars, and hung low reflecting on the pond’s surface, as if to lure anyone away from the night sky’s secrets. The forsaken history of the ruins juxtaposed with the unsolved mystery of starry nights created the quintessential writing place for Mortimer, and an even better place to fall unexpectedly in love.
Fate blessed him one night when he met Maristela amidst the ruins. Kindred souls, they connected and relished in each other’s company. For the first time in his life, Mortimer’s focus was no longer solely on writing. Soon, even the moon’s ever-changing faces paled in comparison to the wonder of Maristela. In the blink of an eye, they fell in love and eagerly wed. In her, he discovered the uniquely transformative power of love and it opened his eyes to new dimensions of his life and more importantly, in his writing. Before Maristela, Mortimer’s writings were solely concerned with the senses – matters and mysteries external from him. After her, he began to ruminate and write about the mysteries of the inner worlds existing within every person. As Mortimer reached closer and closer to grasping his dream, the cruel twist of Fate reared its head – a Curse befell him.
Nobody knows much about the Curses that plagued the land, but one thing is for certain: all those afflicted were marked with immense internal suffering and died soon after. The Curse quickly spurred Mortimer’s mind to race endlessly with doubt and trepidation. A poem stuck in his mind like a thorn:
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain,
Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
The fear of being unable to achieve his dreams and soon no longer see Maristela, struck Mortimer to his core. It rendered him unable to write and prevented him from spending his remaining days with his love. The idea that his dreams lay merely a grasp away – time the only thing stopping him – bore down on his spirit. He could only lament in isolation. The Curse firmly took hold.
His mind surged with all the loss that would come when he’d cease to be. The wave of trepidation finally crashed during a moonless night on the shore of the Dead Sea. There, the shoreline callously encroached upon the crippled wordsmith with every fear-stricken breath. The once playful stars loomed above, slowly picking away the fabric of the world one pin prick at a time. Indifferent, cold winds dragged incessantly toward the endless dark. The pen that rarely left his side lay half-buried in the sand. He considered that pen more of an extension of himself than the limb he used to write with, but now the ability to even grasp the pen, let alone the mysteries of the world, was nearly lost to his mind-numbing fears. But as fate would have it, he stumbled across the will to contemplate one last mystery: death itself.
Face to face with his own mortality and grief, he contemplated and wrote about the Dead Sea beckoning souls to the other side. Peering into the endless unforgiving dark, Mortimer witnessed nothing, or rather, nothingness itself. A simple, yet powerful revelation. In the nothingness of the water, everything, all dreams, all love, sinks. Once on the other side of life, it becomes implausible to peer across the border as he does now. No turning back, no taking anything with. The weight of fear sinks into the deep water while the soul floats on. Mortimer’s fears were indicative of a life worth living, and the true Curse was letting it control him before the inevitable tide pulled him in. He let out a deep exhale as the pulling winds eased slightly. Suddenly, the tide pulled back along with his fears. In the brief respite, he managed to climb back up the dunes to the realm of the living. By the time he reached home, the Curse was lifted.
Mortimer died still too early to achieve his dreams, but the extra time spent with Maristela was more than enough. As he floated off into the Dead Sea, Mortimer gently closed his eyes and the afflictions of life, the regret of a dream unfulfilled, and the parting of a lover, all peacefully washed away.
FIN
Velocity 
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