The Flutist

"When priests are more in word than matter"~Fool From Shakespeare's King Lear In a world where everything is superficial, and when all that matters is the appearances, and when the way to salvation a

Insignificant is our story that takes place in a land of significance.

Our story begins in a blessed land. A land where shrines rose higher than houses. Men of God, broad men with the halo of glory glowing in their hooded frames, roamed the city of "Enkantium", chanting prayers.
The beat of drums in the shrines called the citizens to their prayers. There was not a day when a shrine was not full. Such a blessed city! A city where God is glorified most. Worshiped most.So did the days go by, and so did the chants and prayers go, entwined only with the howling of November winds. On that significant day, the prayers were entwined with more than just the wind; A melody. Sweet as bird's lullabies, but did not belong to a bird. The keeper of the shrine ceased his recital at the sound. People turned around to towards the direction of the sound. It was before long that their curiosity got the best of them , and everyone exited the shrine to grasp a glimpse of the source of the melodies. The sound drew closer and closer till it's source come into view. The figure of a person gleamed in the distance. It was a boy. His hands held what seemed to be a long, sliver pipe. His fingers danced on what seemed to be keys on that pipe. A flutist. The young flutist was finally clear to the view of spectators. In front of a large audience of curious viewers approached a short, skinny boy of 16 years of age. Weariness of a long journey was evident on his exhausted body. He walked with a clear limp. He stopped playing to lift his face to meet the eyes of the crowd. Some women gasped in horror. His eyes were the strangest. His right eye was a very dark brown, almost black, while his left eye was the brightest of blues. A horrible gash ran from under his brown eye down to the end of his cheek. He smiled earnestly to the crowd and rose his hat to salute them. "Hello. I am sorry. I didn't know there was a mass going on" he said brightly. His grin lasted a little more even though people were staring at him in a mixture of fear and wonder.The shrine keeper pushed his way through the crowd. His grey eyes scanned the stranger. "Who are you?" he barked. The boy was a little taken aback with the sudden attack. Nevertheless, the smile soon returned to his strange face again. "My name is Alain. I'm a flutist, sir. I travel. I play. I earn a living" he stated with a bow. The keeper of the shrine's glare did not soften. He mainly focused on the boy's deformed eyes. His brow knitted as he addressed the boy again. "What brings you to this city, boy?" he asked. Alain bowed his head again. "To play, sir. To earn a living. Do you want to listen, sir?" he asked eagerly. He was about to press his lips to the flute again when the keeper arrested him. "We were in the middle of a mass, boy! And we are willing to continue with it" he snarled. The boy nodded in comprehension and walked along with the crowd into the shrine to attend the lecture.


The keeper's lecture was that of major significance. He elaborated with describing the horrors of judgment day. How every human being was to endure the ultimate humiliation and disgrace of his unforgivable sins retold to every being ever created. How sinners and wrong doers were to suffer torture in hell fire. His description of hell was so vivid. The sinners' skin ironed with fire like none ever lighted on this earth. Hotter. Harder. more painful. How their skin, flesh and bones were to be melted and reformed only to melt again. Alain's chest clenched at the keeper's horrifying words. He glanced about the shrine. Men listened intently, but there seemed to be desperation glimmering in their eyes. Like this was their sealed fate. Some women held the same look, while others he did not see their eyes, for they were weeping.  Some children next to him looked horror-struck, shivering. He did not like this. Not in the least. He rose his hand and stood up. His multi-coloured eyes held a stern gaze of condemnation.

"You have not mentioned heaven, sir. It's there, waiting for those who work for it, and for sinners who repent. God does not want to torture his people, does he, sir?" he said firmly.

The whole place fell in dead silence, listening to the boy with looks of shock. The keeper was no less shocked than the crowd. This was the first time anyone criticizes his lectures.


Down to the last penny,and unable to leave with his pockets empty, the young flutist was forced to stay in the blessed city. Little did he know how despised he became among the blessed citizens. How dare he defy the keeper of the shrine? The highest rank of men of God. The flutist roamed the streets till his feet were sore, playing heaven-sent music, and not a penny was thrown into his hat. He was met with glares of loath, spits and foul curses. "Deformed child of the devil", "Zombie eyed freak" and many others. The flutist did not understand why was he met with all of this. To him, the shrine keeper was only a man who made a mistake. Only a few children dropped coins at his feet and ran away, as if afraid to be caught in the act of kindness red-handed.  Alain was still lost in incomprehension. And so he did it again. The keeper's next lecture was about things that are forbidden. Young Alain did not understand why was music in the list. "Would not the prayers be more beautiful with music?" he asked innocently. He saw the shrine keeper's eyes, reflecting a mixture of anger and an inability to find a logical reply. He only snarled curses at the boy, calling him a non-believer and a servant of the devil, and accused him of mocking prayers and God's teachings. The crowd joined in the barrage of curses. Alain seemed to be praying he would disappear. He limped away from the crowd in shame, and was met with another barrage of mockery at his limp. To that day, the flutist never got an answer to why music was forbidden, if it really was.


So many days passed, and Alain continued to tour the city with his music. Yet this day was a significant day. The blessed men of God roamed the city, offering the blessed citizens their monthly sharing of rough bread and cottage cheese. How generous were men of God! Alain asked one of the children who used to listen to him (without anyone catching him red-handed, of course) why were they offered so little.

-"The shrine keeper says we should focus on nurturing our souls, not our bodies. The kind man gives us enough to survive and enough to escape hell" answered the child automatically, like he had rehearsed the words.

-"So, does the shrine keeper eat the same?" asked Alain.

-The boy stopped struggling to bite his rough piece of bread and blinked. "You must be insane like they say! Men of God are superior to us! They get to what what we don't. Their souls don't need to be nurtured any further. God blessed them with earthly and sky heaven" he said, again with the air of someone who had memorized these words by heart. Alain was appalled by the child's answer. He smirked at the utter nonsense.

-"If they really were men of God, they would be aiming to "nurture their souls" more than anyone else. They should be eating less than that rough bread of yours. Or they better starve to "nurture their souls" even further" he smirked.

The child shifted his eyes between his bread and Alain. Never did the child hear anyone speak in this way. A moment of comprehension seemed to dawn on him. Alain smiled at that comprehending stare and continued. "All they are doing, my friend, is enjoy what you cannot. They forbid you from living happily on earth when they do. God did not say that. God had made us all equal, am i not right? and to prove they don't do what they say. Want to know a secret?" he asked with a wink. The child did not move or speak, but he was clearly eager to listen for more. Alain bent down to his ear and whispered something. The child grew pale and his eyes shot daggers at Alain. He rose a finger accusingly "You're a liar, zombie eyed freak!! Liar" he screamed and took off running.
 

Words in this blessed city bolted like lightning in every house and every ear. 2 days later, the whole city knew what the strange flutist said. The word reached the shrine keeper and the pious men of God. Little did they know it would be of any significance. Significant was the day when people went out in demonstrations, asking for more food and a better living. The shrine keeper and the hooded shrine men faced the crowd and growled prayers, forcing the crowd to fall in silence. The shrine keeper understood who set the spark for this imprudent rebellion. 4 hooded men seized Alain by the collar and dragged him to face the crowd. A hooded man he knew quiet well landed a blow to his cheek, making blood trickle down his mouth. Another hooded man, struck a hand to his mouth muffling him. "What is the matter with you, my children? How could you let the devil control you so? you follow this wretched servant of the devil against me? A man who has spent his whole life praying for you, nurturing your souls and aiming for your well-being? Look at him!! A stranger. Cursed with these devilish eyes and playing that contaminating instrument of his!! Have you not seen him criticize God's words? Doubt them! Mock them! Is that a man to follow?" he roared. The anticipating, thoughtful silence fell upon the crowd, only interrupted with Alain's struggling against the men holding him, and his muffled cries of protest and help. The child he had first talked to approached him cautiously. Alain's blue eye twinkled with a ray of hope, but was soon squeezed shut as a rain of spit hit it. This was a sign. The hooded men struck the flutist on his back, sending him to the ground. A barrage of kicks hit his face, stomach, head and legs. A hooded man stomped on the boy's leg. There was a sound of something metallic cracking, and plastic shattering. The hooded man bent down to see what was that. He stripped the boy of what seemed to be a broken, artificial human leg that was attached to his thigh. That was why he was limping. The pious man threw the leg away. The crowd were engrossed in a chorus of laughter at the boy struggling to get up on his single leg. No one bothered to show empathy at the flutist's screams of pain or cries of help. And no one seemed to be bothered with the pool of blood on which the flutist laid twitching in pain. One final blow rendered him unconscious. A long, wooden pole was set up in the middle of the square, so everyone would get a glimpse of the boy. The unconscious, bleeding flutist was tied to the pole, standing only on a single leg. The shrine keeper threw a stone at the boy's head, waking him up once more. Only to watch a storm of stones thrown at him. He could see nothing. But he could hear the stream of curses, calling him a devil. All because he had tried to tell them they deserved more. Insignificant was the sunset when the shrine keeper rose his hand to stop the crowd from throwing more stones at the bloody mass that was once a flutist. There was no need to stone him anymore.


Years passed and one of the hooded men was appointed the new shrine keeper. He was a blessed man indeed. After every lecture, he would play the flute. People adored his music. It was heaven-sent. Almost like one flutist they once knew. Nevertheless, they were so often deprived the joy of listening to him. Rain often scattered the crowd away from the new shrine keeper. No one knew where did that marvelous shrine keeper learn to play the flute, nor did they know why did heaven cry whenever the shrine keeper played Alain's flute

Author's Note

I tried to revise as much as i can, but again, i am a second language speaker. So i am sorry for any grammatical or spelling errors