The Weight of a Soul

Sensitive Themes Include: Grief, Death and some violence.

Grief was streaked across the sky. Droplets drizzled down upon Gwen from the saddened clouds of heaven, her own tears doused by the world’s weeping. The luxurious abodes and shops glimmered in the glow of the early morning, their crystal surfaces slick with rain. It was as though the Kingdom of Coramoria mourned alongside her, its diamond buildings dripping with the sorrow of the sky. Gwen trudged through another puddle, the muddy liquid baring its teeth on her already sodden boots. Her past self, an erudite perfectionist, would never have presented herself in such a repugnant state. Yet as she trod through the desolate streets, her auburn hair in matted tangles and her eyes swollen with affliction, she couldn’t care less. Through her blurred vision, Gwen could discern a bluish tint peeking through the fog on the horizon. The Coramorian sun was rising, bathing the Kingdom in all its glory. Even with the direness of her circumstances, Gwen appreciated its beauty. Somewhere in the solace of the sun’s touch was the memory of her mother - benevolent and graceful.

“Hope is like a ray of sunshine piercing through the darkness of the storm.” Gwen reflected on her mother’s words, the small wisdoms she gifted to her by candlelight. She wondered what her mother would say now, what melodies her gentle voice would utter. Would they be songs of hope, or shrills of despondency as she came to terms with the failures of her daughter?

Gwen killed the trail of thought before it brought her eyes to another tearful cascade. She trod up the quartz steps to the King’s Palace, the grand structure immersing her in the regal aura of Coramorian Royalty. She inhaled deeply, a breath of oxygen tasting delicious in her parched throat. Then she rapped on the handle of the massive double doors. The thump of her fist on the polished quartz echoed along the pearly columns of the castle and ricocheted into the crystalline edifices of the Upper City, before abandoning her once more in the deathly quiet.

Gwen pulled on the handle of the doors to no avail. The ordinarily inviting entrance of the King’s Palace stood apathetically, the gateway shut in her face. The grim reality of her situation dawned on her in a single moment… she had been banished. For all her confidence in her mother’s small wisdoms, she’d prayed for hope to be true. But the sun couldn’t always cut through the storm.

Gwen looked around her, the once vibrant Upper City of Coramoria was flooded by the tranquil silence of scorn. She wanted to wail and beg for a semblance of sympathy, but in the depths of her mangled humanity… she knew there would be none given to her. For Coramorians were people of love and love was not squandered on the heartless. Gwen forced her body down the steps and wiped the pitiable tears from her gaunt cheeks. She left in an air of melancholy, as thick as the day her family vanished and her losses became too much for her to carry.

The soul, the very essence of their being, was nestled in crystalline hearts. An emblem of Coramoria, the crystal hearts floated delicately about their chests. It was an unspoken belief that Coramorian hearts didn’t succumb to breaking. They withstood the antics of life and even the pummels of fists. After all, if a Cormorian’s heart shattered their soul would have nowhere to go. Nevertheless, when Gwen was little her guiltless mind would fret over such things.

“What if it breaks Mom?!” she’d wail, her small feet pattering the floor in vexation.

Her mom’s genial voice offered consolation, as she told her about the stories of Coramorians who undertook perilous risks and survived with their prized hearts still intact.

“You know how many times I’ve gotten into a fistfight,” she’d giggle lightheartedly, “And it never broke, not once.”

Yet as Gwen stood on the glass bridge, the egress of Cormamoria, she cursed her dear mother for the assuaging lies. She tugged at her dress, her hand caressing the smirched ruffles until she found the pocket. Bitter with anger, she withdrew a dense bundle of cloth, unwrapped it and let its contents fall to the ground. When she was a naive child they promised her it wouldn’t break and she had believed them. But it had. Her crystal heart was in a million pieces at her feet, its lucent beauty tainted by a deluge of faulty promises and fickle hopes.

In a frenzy of desperation, Gwen dropped to her knees and attempted with quaking hands to restore it. Despite her efforts, the crystalline fragments kept slipping from her fingertips, just like the ardent will to live she once possessed. Gwen was not one for surrendering to her emotions. A disposition of reticence and astuteness suited her well, and thus she had never held an avid interest for emotional expression. But grief was a cruel, unforgiving thing, and its grim snare could shatter even the most resilient of hearts.

It had happened so suddenly. Gwen had waved her father and mother off at the harbour, grinning as she watched them embark on a short trip to trade goods around the islands. They had completed such excursions many times, even so they were not spared when a stray wave found its mark. She had lost her family to the ravishing Coramorian sea, the very thing her parents called home. A few days later she had woken to excruciating physical pain as cracks penetrated her crystal heart. In an instant, her Coramorian heart had exploded into pieces and she had felt her very soul vanish for its home was destroyed. The abrupt passing of her loved ones had left her to drown in her own sea, one of storms that she could not quell. For becoming a slave to her own sorrow, she would now be forced to pay the price.

The shop on the harbour was quaint, with peeling paint and worn oak tiles. Its grimy interior was accompanied by the distinct rings of wind chimes and a pungent scent of raw fish that clung to the store as if it were a life line. Gwen slapped a pamphlet onto the counter, the soft paper crumpling under the pressure of her palm.

“I need a ship, a small one,” she spoke harshly, her voice clouded by indifference.

“Sixty crystals please,” the owner flashed her a toothy grin. Gwen rummaged through her pockets absentmindedly, her movements laggard.

“You banished dear?” the man asked, his eyes trained on her chest.

Gwen’s gaze shot up to him in surprise. She raised her hand to her heart on impulse. But when her fingertips landed on her empty chest instead of brushing against sleek crystal, reality slapped her all over again. The grief inside her threatened to make a reappearance, however in her sea of misery there were other waters too, ones that boiled. Gwen glared into the depths of the man’s soul, her stare shooting daggers into his eyes.

“You have a problem, old man?” she snapped at him, her presence fierce and cold.

Aghast with shock, the man took a step back and reached for a knife on his belt.

“Coramorians don’t serve the heartless.” he drew a dagger, holding it defensively in front of him.

“IF YOU WANT ME TO GET OUT OF YOUR PRECIOUS KINGDOM, GIVE ME A SHIP!” Gwen screamed.

An ugly rage coursed through her veins and tore open every wound within her being.

“GET OUT OF MY SHOP!” the store owner lunged at her.

A startling thunk resounded through the shop as the door flew off its hinges. The owner halted, his wrath preoccupied by the abrupt occurrence. Before Gwen had the opportunity to strike back, a sudden gush of force slammed into the man, knocking him off his feet. He crashed into the shelves behind the counter and was instantly met by the pummel of powerful punches. The thing attacking him was volant, upon first glance it seemed that he was being battered by the wind. But as Gwen’s stunned mind surveyed the scene, she was able to discern the outline of human-like fists. Without another thought, Gwen turned and bolted. She jumped through the busted door frame and raced down the harbour in desperate search of a vacant ship. Her feet pounded against the mildewed wood of the dock, the vibration reverberating up her spine in rhythmic beats.

“Gwen darling, are you really going to leave your soul behind?”

The eerie voice sent a chill down her back. Gwen grabbed a wrench from a pile of disarrayed tools and clutched it firmly in her right hand. She spun in all directions, swinging it around her as she scanned her surroundings for a sign of the ghost-like entity. She had always wondered what became of her soul after that fateful day when her heart broke. Horrified, she realized that her soul had taken corporal form… and its only desire was revenge. Suddenly, a ferocious kick struck her from behind. She gasped for air, keeling over onto the grimy deck. The entity towered over her, its translucent body illuminated by the glow of the blue sun.

The soul’s resemblance to her was almost uncanny. If it hadn’t been for its pellucid quality, she would have never been able to tell them apart.

“What do you want?” Gwen questioned.

Beyond the soul’s ire there was something more, a certain melancholy that Gwen had become all too familiar with. Her soul was confined to its own dark sea. Gwen felt the weight of woe digging into her again, weighing her down. She pinched herself in the thigh, the kick of pain aiding her in withholding the tears. A morbid expression played over the soul’s ivory lips. It stepped towards her, its face dripping with fury.

“Why did you do this to us?” it cocked its head at her.

Gwen opened her mouth, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak. Though she refused to believe it, there was a token of candor in the Soul’s accusations. It was her fault…

“IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT GWEN!” her soul shrieked as it sprung on her.

The sudden threat of death thrust Gwen into an instinctive fight mechanism. A rush of adrenaline propelled her forward, as she parried the thrash of the Soul’s fists. Despite brandishing the wrench to the best of her ability, she couldn’t out maneuver the soul’s swift attacks. In the next instant, the soul clocked her in the stomach and sent her flying. She collided into the hull of a ship, the impact creating an audible crack within her rib cage. Gwen wheezed, her breaths coming in unsteady gulps. Before she could catch her bearings the soul was upon her again. It clasped its fingers around her neck and lifted her off her feet. A desire for death glazed its eyes. But Gwen refused to die at its hands. She gripped the wrench with both hands and drove it furiously into the soul’s side. The blow sent it stumbling back to the edge of the dock. She watched in fear as the soul fell off the slick edge, its translucent body plunging into the murky waters.

Her first inclination was to leave it to drown. Yet as the soul thrashed in the waves, Gwen couldn’t resist the sting of guilt. A familiar feeling of nothingness washed over her, the same hollow emptiness she had experienced when her heart shattered and her soul left her. She remembered when she was a little girl, when her crystal heart was intact, when she was one with her soul, when she would run through flower fields without a care in the world. Her soul was her vibrant spirit, her joy and her comfort. Grief was a catalyst for apathetic lives and the murder of souls and it had feasted on her life until she had nothing more to give. But as she watched her soul be eaten by the dark surge of the ocean, an epiphany overcame her. She couldn’t abandon her soul, and though her grief willed her to and though she wanted to, Gwen refused to be bound by grief’s chains any longer.

She ran to the edge of the dock and reached down into the thrashing waves. The morning she lost her soul, she lost the core of her being, the essence of who she was. If only she’d been stronger, if only she hadn’t let grief rip them apart. Gwen laid down on the dock, pushing her arm deeper into the water. She sensed the soul’s skin at her fingertips. Her soul needed her and she needed her soul. Bracing herself against the wooden beam of the dock, Gwen hoisted her soul out of the water.

“You are me and I am you.” she gazed at it intently, her stare unwavering.

“Let’s not forget who we are. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

The soul’s fists went limp, and it regarded her for the first time with a silent understanding.

“Then show me how it can be.” The soul whispered as it slumped into Gwen’s embrace.

They stood together, a girl and her soul bound by the raw of grief. Except for the first time in years Gwen could feel the full warmth of the sun. Tendrils of light perforated through the bleak squall like silent promises of hope. The implacable seas of grief seemed calmer, and if she swam hard enough, Gwen thought, she could probably break the surface. Next to her, her soul smiled, as if sharing in the same consoling thought. Gwen breathed, the taste of freedom delicious on her parched lips. She imagined herself as a child, small and barefoot frolicking through lush meadows. That little girl would beam at her now, chipper that she had found herself again. Gwen took the pieces of her crystal heart out of her pocket. She bent down on the dock and carefully started assembling the fragments into their former shape. The soul joined her, its translucent hands working with her own to restore its broken home. For all their pieces, they were still whole.