Getting used to existing as — near as he could figure — a ghost, was odd at first for the Scottish mage. A jovial man, he missed the excitement of being part of and even instigating high drama in the human condition; since his transformation, the energy needed to work his will on the physical realm was exhausting.
He became a watcher instead, randomly sliding like a sigh from one scenario to the next, noticed only by the most perceptive as a dappling through summer shade, the rattle of autumn leaves across wooded dirt paths, or the glittering space between frosty bursts of winter wind.
Decades passed, and through his loneliness, the Scotsman developed a small spark of empathy for those he observed, often returning to the sewer walkway beneath the robber-baron’s mansion to contemplate in detached, logical reflection of what life might mean to others.
It would have remained detached reflection, had not a young man, a folklorist with a shaggy mop of hair, rangy limbs, a keen intelligence and sharp ambition, accompanied by a sense of reckless adventure, entered his realm by taking up a mallet and chisel to strike his brass plaque from the wall, sending it and half the tunnel tumbling.
The young man had caught the plaque before it slithered into the quickly moving sewer water, read aloud most of the runes inscribed, and just like that, the two men were sharing space in the half-realm created by the mage’s spell.
© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2022)
The challenge? Write a story in 6 sentences, no more & no less, and if you’d like, share your creation or just visit and comment on others’ ideas, with GirlieOnTheEdge, Denise. The prompt is “STRIKE”, and here’s where you join the party: Six Sentence Stories