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Refuge
There is a town there. Where mountains look to break the sky and rivers slice through forest glades. The changed leaves fall and make a crisp sound as one walks through them.


The homes show no signs of pride. They are beautiful and have small chimneys which rise and rid the home of smoke from the necessary fire.


This place is their shelter. It always has been. Nothing has ever destroyed it, nor ever will. For if it were to burn, then where would the people live or run to?


It always has been. Even when the river seemed to cease moving and all seemed corrupt, and when goodness seemed to have sailed to the shores of a far off country.





Peter walked into the warm brick house. It was about noon and the sun hid behind a cloud peaking occasionally down where its warmth seemed scarce.


“Uncle, Uncle are you home?” asked Peter. Peter lived with his uncle and little brother.


Peter had arrived from his place of worship.


“I’m in here Peter.” Called his uncle. He and Peter’s brother sat reading, they were perfectly well.


“O.K” replied Peter.


“Do not be irritable with me!” demanded the uncle.


Peter said nothing and walked to his small room which grew cold as the winter loomed.


Peter looked into his journal; it read October 24th, it had been a year.


At this glance he turned his pages back, to another page for he wished not to write anything for this day. He turned back to the date of July 25th, and so it read:


The days grow warm though it never seems as warm as it could be. My friends went swimming today but I do not know how to. I don’t really wish to either. I hate the water. I came home today after the service, it’s always hard to make myself go, but I do for some reason. Nothing better to do I guess. Anyways this was my day. My uncle is calling me, I’ll write again, to you, my only comfort.


Peter closed the book and threw it across the room and wept. He seemed to be avoiding something.


“Peter, please come back down.” Called his uncle. Peter walked slowly down the stairs. “It will be alright Peter.” And embraced Peter and his brother.


All was quiet. There was no wind, and the trees did not move, but the clouds loomed ominously.


Peter’s brother was young, and naïve, but not completely unaware.


“Peter, will you help me build this?” He was building a small house out of his toys and had put inside a happy family with a mother and father and children.


“No.” Peter seemed annoyed and perturbed, “Are you serious?”


“Yes, why not Peter?”


Peter ran up the stairs and wept once more.


When Peter had finally lifted his head from his saturated pillow the sky had grown darker.


He walked down the stairs and noticed his uncle sleeping. He wondered where his brother was and searched the home, but did not find him.


So he then walked outside. Peter felt drops of water and continued his search for his brother. He found him on the limb of a tree by the river.


“What are you doing!” cried Peter.


“Just playing, Peter.”


“Are you crazy?” Peter’s patience waned.


“No, why?”


“How can you be so stupid? Don’t you remember? Do you want to die just like…”


At that moment Peter’s brother slipped and hit his head off of the branch and plunged into the river.


Peter hesitated. There seemed to be a barrier. He then broke running into the water.


It had begun to pour and a storm was growing, yet the water seemed motionless, and the wind began to move.


Peter moved as best as he could to his brother. He grasped his brother’s hand and pushed him to the shore.


Then, a bolt of lightning came from the sky, and waves began to move, and suddenly crashed up against Peter and overtook him.


His brother yelled looking for him but it was too late.


Peter’s head appeared from the waves one last time, and he pointed. His last sight had been the place of worship; he could not avoid those things any longer. He realized, a light seemed to shine above him for that moment, it was a beautiful epiphany. He had given his brother a chance. His once afraid mind was opened and calm. He then passed.


His brother ran back to the warm home. He was weeping and amazed at what he had seen. He did not know what to do with himself. But the sun crept out and pushed the storm back, away from the home. The brother awoke his sleeping uncle and told him what he had seen.



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Comments

The following comments are for "Refuge"
by Hokmah

Commen= Good
When I finished reading this I had a sign above my head: "based on a true story". This is a good story, I dont read much short stories but when I get a chance I want to read something good, and this is a bull's eye. Where was the story going on? I thought it was Mexico, but I may be wrong.

Having in mind that this is a short story I cant comment too much on the lack of description. (normally I would give a seperate paragraph for describing someone/something). The ending was amazing. (I could see it before my eyes)

Keep up the good work and "Encore".

( Posted by: WriterX [Member] On: December 25, 2004 )





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