by Richard Tearle
*
THE
STONE
MARCH
2030 - Written From My Study
Things
were a bit grim ten years ago. A virus was sweeping the world, killing people
in their thousands. Hell no – in their millions.
On
top of that, certain species of animal were becoming extinct, the rain forests
wilfully destroyed and, overall, temperatures
were rising in the summer and dropping dangerously low in winter. Other rare
weather phenomena were taking place, yet the people who could possibly help
delay or even halt the process were either procrastinating or utterly denying
that it was a problem.
Today,
as I sit at my laptop in the company of despair and my loving cat, I reflect
on the anniversary of the death of my
dear wife in the very first year of that terrible time. But the despair is not
for myself for I am approaching my eightieth year and life is tiring.
Especially when you have health problems. I won't bore you with them; I have
accepted them, take my medication and, in this current climate, avoid contact
with the rest of the world as much as possible. Of course Death scares me and I
wish to avoid him as much as possible, but he will come for me as he will for
everyone.
No.
I ask myself: what did we learn from the effects of that deadly plague?
And
I'll tell you: nothing.
There
seemed to be a glimmer of hope. With traffic on the roads, almost non-existent, apart from essential supplies and deliveries, and
other harmful activities regarding the environment halted or similarly
diminished, there were signs of climate recovery. Here was the chance to act on
that particular problem once the crisis was over. And it would be over, of that
there was no doubt. Time was the unknown factor but time would pass. It always
does.
And
when it was over we, the world, began to rebuild. But we changed nothing.
Aeroplanes re-filled the skies again, cars and lorries congested the roads. People
flocked to the coasts or abroad because now, after months of lockdown, they could.
Businesses on the verge of bankruptcy suddenly flourished. All the things we
did before, we did all over again. Deforestation continued at double its
previous rate. Despite the clear signs of climate decay reappearing, world
leaders once again ignored the evidence claiming that 'getting things back to
normal' was their major priority.
I
lean back in my chair and rub my eyes. Ten years ago that would have been
foolish, but its alright now. There's something I need and I scrabble in desk
drawer to find it. Instead my fingers alight on the stone.
It
has been years since I last held it in my hands. Why should it come to me now? It had drawn me to
it. Something about it both thrilled me and scared me in equal measure.
The
stone had a history, or so I was told. I found it a lifetime ago on the banks
of Loch Venachar near Callander where the family were holidaying. It drew me to
it then, I recall. Silky smooth, round, with just off centre a perfectly round hole. I looked through it and the loch beside
me rippled as if a gust of wind had disturbed its tranquillity. For a moment
the skies darkened and perhaps it was raining on the further shore. When I lowered
the stone, the vision had gone and the sun must have re-emerged from the
clouds. I showed it to my dad, my mum,
my sister and our landlady who took it from my pudgy hand and turned it around
and around but did not hold it up to her eye.
'Have
ye looked through yon wee hole?' she asked in her broad accent which I
sometimes had difficulty in understanding.
I
shook my head and cried, 'No' and though she clearly detected the lie she let
it pass.
'It's
called a divining stone,' she explained. 'There was a man – oh – four hundred
years ago called Kenneth who used such a stone to predict the future.' My eyes
widened. She smiled. 'But he had The
Gift an' the stone was only a prop, I suspect, so I doubt whether ye'll come to
any harm wi' it. Unlike poor Kenneth.' She added without further
explanation. She handed it back to me.
'Keep it safe, laddie,' she finished off and tousled my hair.
Years
later I discovered what poor Kenneth's
fate had been. Having bluntly informed a certain great lady of her absent husband's
activities as seen through the stone, she had him taken out and most gruesomely
executed.
Even
now I shiver when I think about the stone. I wish I could throw it away, but
somehow I never can. It lies lightly in my palm, silently goading me to raise
it to my eye. Reluctantly, being unable to resist its pull, I do so.
The
sky is black, though it is not night. I see trees denuded of leaves, sharp,
stark black skeletons tottering uncertainly in crumbling dead earth. With a
start I recognise the location: Loch Venachar. But there is no loch, just a bed
of dry, windblown sand.
I
have seen the future and it is not far away.
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Comments from original post
apologies for not getting things done this morning - I completely forgot the date! Loved this story - one of those that makes you think.
No apologies necessary Helen!!!
Loved this story.
The Plague comes to mind. No idea why.
Glad you enjoyed it, Caz! A little more apocalyptic than I usually write, but it seemed right for current times ....
DeleteAnother wonderful story of yours. Love it!!
Thank you very much!!! Much appreciated