Nothingness :: Creative Writing Short Stories

hint The rampart counts to be chiseled from one large block of marble. As if the Gods themselves found a piece of black marble large bounteous to cover an area apparently the size of Kansas. In fact the Gods themselves did, for this is the wall of Asgaard, realm of the Gods. Seated amidst mountains of mist and covering fully half of existence, the metropolis of the Norse dead is surrounded by this towering wall of highly strung black marble. From the mountains, a stone paved path winds down to the prat of the wall. On the path a group of figures are descending its flagstones, working their way to the foot of an immense silver gate, that stands ajar, on the loose(p)ing the way for each travelers. The gate is a delicate appearing mesh of shining paring if closed, even Thor could not force it open. He has tried. It must be that strong, it guards the just now path between the land of the living and the land of the dead. Approximately forty souls are approa ching the gate one leads. She is a large woman, with pine platinum- ash-blonde hair braided down her back. Her white robes flow rough her, giving the appearance of reality and solidity, an odd sight in the purport world. Turning to those who follow her she focuses her gaze on each in turn, No matter what happens, do not go through the gate. Only the Seekers whitethorn go through. You are not prepared for what will be on the other side. Her followers do not react, those whose eyes are open are more interested in the terrain. The majority of the people appear to be sleeping, their faces are relaxed and their eyes are closed. Of those whose eyes are open, only if a few are awake and alert. Two are especially noteworthy. One is a tall youth with shoulder length blonde hair, the other is sightly shorter, with long curly dark brown hair. He is wearing a kilt and a short, ceremonial sword at his belt. The blonde lad is standing still, absorbing his surroundings with a p assion. He seems to be looking for something.