M I R A G E

He required assistance. She couldn’t sleep.

He required assistance because poverty had taken hold of him as he grew older. He was left with nothing but water from a borehole he had dug when he was younger. At the moment, the only person who could provide the needed aid was a young man he knew from his youth. The only stumbling block was that he did not hold the young man’s life in high respect. He did, however, recall the young man at this time. He decided to contact the young man nearly fifty years after first meeting the young man.

She was unable to sleep. When she closed her eyes, her fellow lady, who was well into her years but still a child in immortal time, would rise from the grave. The ground would tremble, and the atmosphere would darken and become chilly. She couldn’t sleep because she couldn’t get enough oxygen. The hand of her fellow lady would pierce the sealed grave. It would break as it emerged. Because of the breaking, the hand would get shorter every day. It got shorter every day as it broke, but got stronger.

As it approached the one who couldn’t sleep, the fellow lady’s arm would always pat the young man’s back. The young man was always reassured by the fellow lady’s broken arm as it made its way towards the lady who couldn’t sleep. It always brought the young man to lush green fields brimming with fruit, and only then would it proceed to the lady who couldn’t sleep.

The fellow lady’s arm would rise from the grave and suffocate the one who couldn’t sleep. When the lady who couldn’t sleep awoke, she had no choice but to drink from the borehole dug by the man in his youth. The lady who couldn’t sleep would cry out in hunger, pleading with him to act. He had to act. He thought she couldn’t sleep because of how hungry she was.

He was prepared to call the young man. The same young man who’s life he couldn’t regard fifty years prior. The young man who was patted on the back, comforted and led by the broken arm of the fellow lady that raised from the grave every time the one who couldn’t sleep attempted to sleep. Would she who couldn’t sleep die of hunger or suffer the torment of eating from the young man who was guided by the broken arm that raised from the grave?

Disclaimer: I do not own the image used in the story above nor any rights to it. To access the image and more of it’s kind follow the provided link https://www.deviantart.com/tsukiko-kiyomidzu/art/Haunted-637243138