The Woman With Souls

A short, fictitious story... the name implies the theme, really...

And as they entered the dimly lit room where light struggled to get past the thick curtains, the man noticed the illuminated glow from the many bottles that sat strewn about the room.

The shelves to the left had bottles lined upon them, the desk the shelves were connected to had bottles set atop of important documents and stacks of dusty books. Any flat surface held these similar-shaped bottles. The window sills, the corners of the room, any random ledge… all had bottles with these certain glows. They were small, perfect orbs, the color of fire, and like fireflies they circled their small prisons in a futile dance.

“What are all of these?” He asked. She was across the room, scavenging through a drawer on her night stand. She slammed the stubborn drawer shut, the bottles on top shaking from the impact.

“Oh, these? I collect them.” She replied walking towards the desk where the man stood. She rubbed one affectionately with her finger; her gaze distant as a slight smile twitched her lips upward.

He leaned closer to observe the contents, not noticing the woman’s eerie display.

“But what are they?” He asked again as he stared at the tiny orbs and the many reflections it produced on the surface of the bottle.

There was silence for a moment as they both gazed at a particular, drooping orb. She whispered something, but he could not hear her.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” She lifted her head to gaze eerily at the man; her face disturbingly calm and stoic in the dimness of the room. Her eyes held such a disturbing ambiance he couldn’t stop the surge of worry as she spoke again, a little louder this time.

“They’re souls.”