The Reader: Continued
As Jorge stepped into the secret passageway, the thick, musty air enveloped him, each breath heavy with the scent of damp earth and forgotten stories. The narrow corridor twisted and turned, its stone walls cool against his fingertips. Flickering shadows danced along the walls as he made his way deeper, the light from his flashlight illuminating glimpses of faded, intricate carvings that told tales from ages past. Every few steps, he could hear the faint whisper of water dripping somewhere nearby, echoing like a subtle heartbeat in this stifling darkness.
After what seemed like an eternity, Jorge emerged into a cavernous chamber, illuminated by a soft, ethereal glow. The walls sparkled as if studded with stars, and in the center stood a mesmerizing pool, its surface smooth and reflective like glass. To his right, an old man sat on a stone bench, his figure draped in tattered robes. A long, white beard flowed down to his chest, and his eyes twinkled with a wisdom that both intrigued and intimidated Jorge.
“Ah, a seeker of knowledge,” the old man spoke, his voice soft yet resonant. “What brings you to this hidden sanctuary?”
Startled, Jorge replied, “I didn’t know anyone else was here. I’m looking for answers... for a story that needs to be told.”
The old man chuckled, a sound like rustling leaves. “Stories are the lifeblood of our existence. But tell me, young one, what answer do you seek?”
“I want to know why the tales from this place have faded into silence. Why no one remembers?” Jorge asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Because stories not only need to be told; they need to be cherished,” the old man explained, leaning forward. “If they are forgotten, they lose their magic. Bring me your story, and together we will rekindle its flame.”
Jorge felt a surge of determination. “I will make sure the world remembers! I’ll write about this place and share its wonders with everyone.”
The old man nodded, a serene smile spreading across his face. “Then take this knowledge with you; let it thrive in the hearts of those you meet.” He gestured towards the shimmering pool, and as Jorge peered into its depths, images began to swirl: the vibrant tales of heroes, lost loves, and forgotten realms, all waiting for a voice.
With newfound purpose, Jorge turned to thank the old man, but he found only silence. The chamber now felt emptier, as the luminous glow grew brighter, flooding his surroundings. Following the light, Jorge retraced his steps back through the passageway, feeling the weight of duty pressing against his shoulders.
Emerging from the secret entrance, he stood in the sunlit world above, clutching his notebook tightly. The stories nestled in his heart pulsed with life, echoing in his mind like a beautiful chorus of forgotten voices. He knew what he had to do—he would write, he would share, and above all, he would remember.
And so, Jorge began his journey back to the town, ready to become the storyteller who breathed life into lost tales, ensuring that the magic of the past would never again fade into obscurity.
1 answer