From Year 8 pupils
Silence: It can strangely often be louder than words. Nothing needed to be explained for him to understand the severity of the situation. The silence said it all. Hyperventilating and praying that this wasn’t in fact what he was seeing, he gazed upon a once lively space, now reduced to a moisture-laden, uninhabitable dump. “Hello!” he uttered, a sense of real urgency in his voice, “Is anyone there?” His echo resounded from the dank walls around him, before hitting the disturbed man in the stomach.
It wasn’t anything physical that winded the fellow, only the realization that he was alone. It curved around like a boomerang, rendering him breathless, and making him unable to process exactly what this meant.
He didn’t know the inhabitants of this house (or any of the others for that matter); he was simply a messenger, coming to warn the unaware people of this placid town of the danger that may befall them. And this was his fault. Warily, as if to not awake the beast of the guilt he felt inching ever closer, he began to recount the events of that morning.
I woke up at my normal time, ate my normal breakfast, and took my normal route to work. Something about this morning though, didn’t seem so normal. The sky was lifeless, ashen and depressing, reflecting my mood perfectly. Nothing could prepare me for what was to happen when I got to work, and the uneasy feeling laying in the pit of my stomach, was about to get a whole lot worse.
We all stood there in disbelief, unable to properly realize what this meant we had to do. Novel and unseemly, the alert level on the screen had changed. It had only happened once before, an occasion that our community dreads to think back to, and now, it had happened again. I raced down the motorway at a snail's pace, or at least that is what it felt like. Everything was moving in slow motion and all I could think about was the time until my destination.
You see, I was a coast guard and one that had been working away from home, tracking the movements of a storm seen ravaging the majority of the southern hemisphere. As the watch ticked away on my wrist, so too did the remaining minutes of life for thousands of by-the-sea dwellers, the storm was coming for them. I was meant to warn them, evacuate them and save countless lives, but now my lack of speed had reduced me to a helpless idiot in a pickup truck.
They were ants, trapped in a rural village on the sea, surrounded by mountains, they were about to be flushed out and for those who weren't quick enough, well I'm not sure I want to think about that now.
That was all he remembered. Not anything for the rest of his trip. He would never be able to escape the sight of pulling into the town and seeing it empty, lifeless, exactly like the sky that morning. He had been too late, and now was to search the village. To try and find survivors and explain why they had lost family members. That it was because of him. It wasn’t his fault of course but try telling that to the feeling inside of him. It was dark, rising from the bottom of him, and threatening to choke him with guilt. Just as the storm had destroyed these people's hometown, he was destroyed inside, the guilt crashing in, flooding his view, and ruining the walls of his mind. This was a feeling he would struggle to escape.
After overcoming his shock, he gradually got to his feet, and began to focus on the task in hand. Feverishly, the preoccupied young man trudged through the rubble: each uneven piece rubbing against another, creating a rather spine-tingling scraping sound. Following what seemed like hours (but was really just minutes), he came across his first discovery.
A picture, ruined by the smashing waves, and placed behind a cracked pane of glass. He couldn’t begin to comprehend how different this family would be after the events of the last 24 hours. The image in his hand depicted a happy group, clearly lathered in sun cream and yet to be covered in sand. However, the thing that really unsettled him was the number of people in the picture. There were six of them, four children and two parents; the children were of varying ages, some young adults, others fresh-faced and barely toddlers. Once elated and care-free, their faces were now smudged, and ink of different colours spilled and bled around the frame. Six lives that indirectly or not, he was responsible for the loss of.
Behind the picture frame was a note, damp yet just dried out enough for him to make out three words: “Storm, help please.” He read the words aloud, shaking as he did so. This was the closest that he would come to finding out what was going through this poor families heads at the time, and the message they had sent him, was chilling to say the least. He kept hold of the note, making sure not to crush it in his shivering hands. He had a huge amount of explaining to do.
As he walked further and further through the ruined town, he saw more and more evidence of houses, mangled and destroyed by the wave. Until finally, panting and struggling for breath, he came to something unusual and that had stayed seemingly unharmed throughout the catastrophe. It was a rectangular, corrugated metal building that other than being very slightly dented, was completely intact.
Cautiously, he inched closer to what seemed to be a sealed entrance and tried to pry the rusted door open. As he heard a satisfying creak, another sound was projected across to him from the darkness and it was one of fear. He heard a shaky and frightened voice reach out to him, “There is nobody else” said the voice, gaining confidence mid-sentence, “only, me.”
Ravaging and raging, the wind whirled. Rapidly, the waves bashed amongst the bare shore and the sand could barely hold its place any longer. Thunder: Lighting flashed amongst the sky and caught the villager’s eyes by surprise.
Anger is the only word that comes to mind when I think of those pesky people. Steeling my property and covering it with food. My animal friends are dyeing every day because of their selfish ways and use of plastic. Its their turn to witness something they care about falling at their feet. Get ready world, the storm’s going to make you pay!
The gargantuan wave grew bigger until all appeared small. Devastation: the unseasonably severe storm frightened the people in the distance. Developing a louder and more deafening soundscape by the minute. The storm was a twirl of perfect black ballet dancers, each dressed in windswept grey. They danced to the roar of heaven's drum. They called lightning to their stage. For they were honour bound to come when the compass needed the music of the wind to send its needle full round.
As the waves almost finished growing; a girl began to cry. “HELP!” The houses, where the people lived, slowly began to collapse. “DRIP.”
Suddenly her eyes began to water and she started to look pale. “I’ve been here before” she thought, witnessing a moment of déjà vu right before her closed eyes. Lying there made her even more sensitive to the dangers of the wave. Becoming heavier and heavier until it was almost light. Most houses are now non-existent. Yet one last house was still standing with its head held high (not for long).
Suddenly, a brave young man rushed in to save her. Brawny and buff, he picked up her fragile body and ran with his and her life depending on it. The storm was at was at its most threatening point. This means it would end soon. Right? Its anger pushed itself at its limits to where it could do anything to hurt someone. It was destined to win this battle.
This man must be crazy to think that he could mess with me! Let’s see if he can take this! The storm trailed the man with every step he took. Everything had fallen with a loud “crash” The courageous mystery of a man ran to safety with her in his arms. He was calm unlike the others.
This is it. I think my time is over. Never have I wished so much for the land. To feel the sweet brown soils of home. For on this sea, I feel the rage within, as if the ocean is countless tears ready to pound at the feet of man, to teach he who has wanted yet not nurtured as he should. I am delicate in his hands. Venerable. This may be my last few moments on earth. My life begins to flash before my eyes. I am craving for peace. To smell the fresh scent of sea water and watch it glisten. I may never life to see or breathe this pure beauty again.
Slowly, doing some CPR, he realised that she was breathing. A crowd of panicked and traumatised people surrounded the poor girl. They were tapping her chest and counting repeatedly. No difference was made and people began to lose hope. Out of the blue, a miracle had happened.
Her eyes intricately opened. She took a big gasp of air. The people screamed in delight. She saw the man and hugged him without thinking. A smile crept amongst her face and her eyes lit up. The man smiled back at her as she thanked him for his bravery.
Nooo! How dare that man do what he did. She doesn’t deserve to live! But now neither does he. I’m going to win. And when I do. EVERYONE WILL BE SORRY! Together the couple ran back to the ocean side struggling with all their might. This man was going to be a hero more than once a day. He was going to save all of the people that were still endangered in the almost imagined village. Nothing went through their mind, besides one thing. And that was to bring this village to victory.
A lady encountered the couple and was sobbing more than ever before. She had lost her child in the dangers of the storm. He was only young. Crying is natural and strong for it belongs to those with the courage to show their vulnerable self. Terror: The disappointment on the lady’s face is what made the couple do what they did next.
One at a time they went through the piles of what used to be houses. Luckily many people already made it out alive. However, there was still a little boy whelping for help. He couldn’t find his parents and it had appeared as if they just them him there. His leg was underneath a huge pile of stone which he couldn’t lift by himself.
Once both the girl and boy heard his cry; they sprinted until the boy was in sight. Once he was found, the boy lifted up the rock. Then the girl slowly picked him up. No one was left on that village but them. They were the last of the people.
That’s it. This is my time to shine! The wind element of the storm grew bigger, pushing the three until every step they took felt like they were tipping forwards. At this point, sand was deeply covering their eyes and they couldn’t see anything. Perseverance: being blinded doesn’t stop these two from saving the boy. This isn’t the last time you will see me. Be aware because I will come when you least expect it! Finally making it to safety, the little boy was now calm and with his thankful mother. The girl and boy became very good friends and agreed to meet up sometime soon. The storm failed its quest and hasn’t been near the beach since.
The storm’s cruelty to the people was shortly followed by a masterpiece. The sun shone and brightened the dreary scene. Like a mirror. It conjured the most beautiful mosaics, reflecting from each tree, leaf and wisp of cloud. It brought pure joy and frisson onto the people’s skin. Everything was made a light honey tone and the light even lurked into the sweet smiles on people’s faces. Peace at last!
After the storm, I was reflecting on why I didn’t help. Thrashing and crashing, waves everywhere, I felt so panicked! Big and strong, the wave was flying everywhere! I was squawking to all my friends:
“Get out of the way!” I said, panicked.
“Move!”
“Fly, fly, fly!” I screamed, trying desperately to get everyone to safety.
There was stuff laying around everywhere that I wanted to pick up: shells; rocks; food! The shells were beautiful; some were in the shape of flowers and others has muscles in, glittering in the sand, but I knew at this desperate time I could not waste precious moments on such things. So I just grabbed the food and left for higher ground to store the food for later. I was so tempted to just collect them all and take off but now it was too late - no going back now - I needed to keep high ground and fly.
He flew off into the distance feeling the guilt drown in his stomach he couldn’t just leave everyone and everything alone helpless and worried.
Suddenly, I had the thought of going back when I was younger. I was helpless. I needed somebody to help but I figured it out myself it’s ok; the birds will be fine, I told myself. I flew into trees.
It was like an obstacle course getting around them all. It’s like they were telling me to go back help them - look at you, strong, and could help so much! I pressed on I had my goal set. No turning back. The trees were talking to me, whistling to me “go back!” Like my mum would have, like a voice singing to me.
It was a choice: friends or me. Friends or me? It was splitting me. I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t go back but I couldn’t go on the guilt was killing me! I was just wasting time. I had to think.
It’s ok they can do it. I will help because I know what I’m doing so it’s ok. Right? I pushed on. I could feel the wind blowing into my face whistling and howling around every tree.
It was that moment that was my worst decision, to leave them helpless and alone. I selfishly left them just to save myself. I feel so bad. I can’t be helped now. I will just have to go on with the guilt dwelling inside me.
There is always tomorrow, another dream keeping me captive in my regrets.
Maybe next time I will have a night, not a sleepless night, a good night.
Part One
Incredibly, the wave towered above everything else. Obscured were the peaks of the mountains and blocked out was the sun. Smashing and crashing onto the breakwater, in an attempt to break the hard surface, it fizzled to nothing on the concrete. Amazing but petrifying, it was too big for anyone to fight, all they could do was wish it would not take their home, or worse. Hope: Vanished, like a diminishing dream. Part Two
Mark was another who was taken by the first wave, as it repeatedly knocked him down and knocked him down, over and again. It filled his mouth, but couldn’t get down his throat. It kept him underwater, bashing him against the ground, waiting patiently until he tried to breath… and then it struck.
He opened his mouth and instantly the water was forcing itself down his throat, clawing at the sides, filling his lungs…
Mark woke up – no, woke down – or woke sideways? His head hurt and he couldn’t make sense of anything. He was lying on his back against hard lumpy stone. Why was he here… he had… he did… he… couldn’t remember. He rolled onto his side and started coughing up seawater… or that’s what it felt like. Nothing came out of his mouth, not even white puffs of air, which was surprising since the cold here was brutal. He was shivering like an electric toothbrush as he stood up and surveyed what was around him… he certainly wasn’t anywhere near home.
It was as if he was in a great cavern, so huge that the walls and the ceiling were out of sight. Even the floor was just a narrow bridge, below which was a seemingly bottomless chasm. It beckoned to him. Horrified, Mark wrenched his eyes away from the dark abyss. He was surrounded by blue fires, raging everywhere, licking up the walls that were made of crude natural stone, just like everything else. He turned around and saw the biggest set of double doors he had ever seen. They were at least a hundred metres wide, and taller than that too.
This was the only thing that looked like it had been purposefully made, as it was inlaid with ornate carvings and paintings of dismal scenes, which seemed to depict lost souls being guided through the doors.
He reached out. He touched the doors. And deep in his head, a light was turned on. Suddenly, the fires burned brighter and larger, swallowing up the foot-wide bridge behind him. (They weren’t giving off any heat, but somehow he knew they would still burn if he touched them.) The doors creaked, and then began to open.
As soon as the seam was broken, a forceful wind smashed into him, pushing him back, dangerously close to the blue fire. He covered his face with his arms and started shuffling forwards.
As he moved, he felt new presences around him. He looked around and realised there were dozens – no, hundreds of shimmering people doing just the same around him. He was knocked about as everyone tried to walk away from the fire and was pushed towards the edge of the walkway. It was only a few metres wide… he pushed through, back to the centre of the crowd. Everyone was jostling for safety, even though they knew not what laid on the other side of the doors.
Suddenly, the wind stopped, and everyone with it. He turned his head… and saw someone.
“Hi, I’m Sam.”, the person said. “And you?”
Part Three
The wave; the behemoth; the monster; the grim reaper. All merged into one as my befuddled brain lost comprehension of the situation. It was as if the sea had risen from its bed to bring a gargantuan might upon me (and many more I’m sure). I ran downstairs but tripped on a spare doorstop and came tumbling down, landing in a broken heap thinking I’d cracked a rib.
Suddenly, I remembered a time when I was five. I was at the top landing of these same stairs, playing with my toy aeroplanes. I accidentally dropped one and I ran for it, but tripped on a spare doorstop and came… tumbling… all the way down.
The wave. Yes. The wave. Despite my burning agony, I dashed through the door, through the living room and into the kitchen, where my mother was chopping onions. There were no windows here.
“We have to get out!” I yelled with fervour.
“What do you mean? It’s still winter! And why are you shouting?” she replied, utterly missing the point.
I decided speech couldn’t get the message across quickly enough, so I took her hand and dragged her out into the living room and pointed her at the window. Her eyes widened and she froze, still holding the knife. I urgently waved a hand in front of her eyes, and that seemed to wake her up.
Both of the same mind, we ran out of the living room, into the hall and out the front door. My mum got in the car and tried to start it, but it stalled, and everything was happening so fast and then… I looked up, and realised I was too late, as I was tossed against the house wall… The last thing I remembered was the burning cold.
“Very good, very good”, said The Curator. “Now quit your whining, I get thousands of these stories every day and they all just blend into one.”
Sam hung his head and reflected on how merciless the underworld was.
Part Four
The spiral towered above everything else in the underworld. It was a vast, cone-shaped marble structure, which had paths snaking and twisting their ways up it. The spiral was a goal for all members of the underworld, for at the top was something unprecedented: A soul. If one were to climb all the way up the spiral, then they could claim this soul, and gain the right to travel back to the world of the living.
The land surrounding the spiral was lush with wheat, although that was the only thing that could be described as lush in such a hellscape. The skies were black, and the horizon had the barest red tinge. A weak, but frigid breeze swept the fields, which was the home of every undead. For all eternity, they were cursed to stand alone in pure, utter, undisputed boredom.
Most new arrivals were hopeful for a moment, but soon realised the soul was unattainable. It was just another device meant to torture the unworthy.
However, for two unsuspecting young people, the story would be different…
After having his pleas rejected by the curator, Sam was determined to do something. He needed to know if there was a way out, because he couldn’t stay here. There was simply no way he deserved it. Mark was thinking the same thing. He wanted to get out, he needed to get out. So many words left unsaid, and an eternity to think about them… he needed to. And he also had a new friend… all he needed was a way.
Surrounded by the waving wheat fields, and the whining, chilling breeze, supported by two iron wills, Sam and Mark set out to find help. To find someone who knew a way to the surface. Tasha was an underworld informant. Though, she always worked for free, because even if there was a currency in the underworld, she would have nothing to spend it on. Really, she got her payment for having something to do. So, when two scrawny boys approached her, obviously looking for something, she perked up immediately.
The one on the left approached first. “We were told you give information for free. I’m Mark, he’s Sam. We want to get out. How can we do that?” Tasha baulked, and retorted with “There is no way out. You’re stuck down here ‘till judgment day, if that’s even a thing.”
The one on the right, Sam, pushed in and said “There has to be a way. There must be some way… even the most hopeless cause. Tell us.” “I suppose”, Tash sighed, “if you really want to try, then you could climb the mountain.”
Mark looked hopeful. “Why? What’s up there? Tell us!”
“Wait, wait. Up there, is a soul, which is what you need to be in the world of the living. As soon as you lose it, you get sent down here. So naturally, the only way out is to attain a new one.
“On the top of that mountain is the grave of the first curator. He created this place so the dead would stop haunting the living, but he wasn’t dead himself. When he did eventually kick the bucket, he vowed he would protect his soul at all costs. To escape this place, you cannot claim your own soul, as the bindings it had to you are broken. The only way to get out is to make new bindings with another’s soul.”
“So, we just have to walk up there and take it?” Sam scoffed, “It can’t be that hard.”
“Hold on just a minute. Like I said, the first curator protects his soul. You’d have to get past him, and… well, let’s just say, most don’t.” Tash turned to gaze at the spiral. It could have been a gigantic ant mound. “Stealth would be your best option. Oh, and one last thing, if you die in this place, the remaining small fragments of your own soul are lost. That means you lose consciousness, and you can never claim a soul. So, don’t do that.” Tash turned round, but the two boys were already running away towards the spire, fuelled by their need for the soul.
Mark needed it to help his mum. He had no siblings, and his dad had left long ago. Getting through cancer alone just wouldn’t be possible for her. She had been in hospital when the storm hit, so she would’ve been fine, but he had to get to her before that changed.
Sam needed it because he had just finished a project, a project that could help many, many people. He was a scientific prodigy and had won a competition that let him design a product to help with the effort against climate change. What he had designed was ground-breaking… A machine that could purify ocean water using melted plastic, which it could collect from the sea (which helped to clean it too!). Put on some solar panels, and bam – you’ve got a completely self-sustaining ocean cleaning device. But he hadn’t completed the plans… he needed to get back and do that urgently.
But most of all, both just didn’t want to be dead. They both wanted to live, and that is the most primal, overpowering instinct of all. But to do that, they would need a soul… and there was only one of those.
Part Five
The spiral was not a challenge, although it was not meant to be. It was never even created with the intention of being the resting place of a soul. It was just a very long, uphill hike.
Skidding and sliding, Sam and Mark were halfway up in minutes, scrambling along like a pair of scared goats. The incline was fairly steep, and the rocks that littered the path were prone to sliding.
As they climbed, Sam thought of the shape of the spiral. It looked like the top half of pictures of the gherkin he’d seen online, the huge skyscraper in London, except for the path that jutted out a meter and wound round it. It was not a pretty construction, especially with the way it jarringly rose out of the completely flat landscape around it.
Completely lost in his thoughts, Sam failed to pay attention to the path, and as he put his hand down try and propel himself up a particularly steep part, it caught on a sharp rock, drawing blood. Sam recoiled, grimacing, and lost his balance. His foot slipped, he felt himself tumbling backward.
He waved his arms, knowing that there were tens of meters between him and the ground, but he couldn’t regain purchase. His feet were now teetering over the edge, and he was about to fall.
Time seemed to slow down. He was able to remember every last moment, every detail. Mark hearing the commotion and turning round. Hundreds of the dead swivelling their heads upward, to see yet another foolish newcomer about to die for his final time. The way he was just slightly tilted towards the open air. The small tear started to prick his eye.
And then he fell. Except he didn’t. He dangled. A hand was holding his, keeping him from plummeting… Mark’s hand. He felt himself being dragged up the side of the cliff, his arm burning, feeling like it was being pulled out of its socket. Mark’s other hand grabbed his arm, and with renewed strength, Sam was saved. Petrified; he did not get up. He just lay on the path for a good ten minutes.
When he finally regained his composure, they started back up the mountain with haste. As much as Sam would have liked to stay there on the ground, they had to get moving again.
Up here, the slight breeze that rustled the wheat fields was nearing a gale. That and the fact that the path was narrowing meant they had to cling to the face of the mountain and shimmy their way up. They were almost at the summit, and sure enough, as they rounded a corner that sheltered them from the wind, they saw that the next stretch of the path led up to a flat plateau about ten meters across. They began walking up.
No sooner were they up than they spotted the grave of the first curator. It was a simple stone cross. It could have belonged to anyone, let alone the creator of the underworld.
Suddenly, a howl split the sky, and a body crawled out from underneath the grave. It was pale, and bony, with a straggly beard and tattered clothes. It had milky white eyes and no hair. Both boys were struck with a sense that this thing, whatever it was, was not human in any way.
Sam and Mark stood their ground, as the thing looked at them.
They waited, expecting a strike at any moment from the body standing in front of them.
The body braced itself, looking like a tiger ready to pounce.
Sam and Mark exchanged a glance, and in that glance was everything that needed to be said at that moment; everything they had endured, everything they had been through to get to this point could not be wasted. They had to win this.
The monster lunged, grabbing at Sam. Sam threw his hands up to protect his face, and Mark threw a punch that connected with the side of the thing’s head. It was knocked onto its back, but Mark had angered it, and it came at him with ferocity. Mark dodged, and tried to throw another punch, but the monster had learned. It took him by surprise, dodging low to the side and rugby tackling him to the ground.
Sam, not knowing what to do, screamed and ran at the thing. It turned around and kicked him onto the floor, knocking the breath out of him. As Sam gasped on the floor, the monster turned to see Mark had got off his feet and was running at him, full force. The monster sidestepped and pushed Mark lightly on the shoulder, completely throwing him off balance. He toppled over.
The monster turned round to check on Sam, but it was as if he had given up. So it turned back to Mark, who was scrabbling backwards, trying to get away. The monster dived onto him, but Mark anticipated this. He curled up his hands and his legs, and as soon as the monster landed on him, he extended them, while rolling over backwards. This pushed the monster over Mark’s head, using its own momentum against it.
The monster flew over the edge of the cliff.
Mark stood up, feeling triumphant. He began to walk over to Sam, but a hand grabbed his ankle – the monster was clinging on to the edge! Mark was grabbed, and pulled backwards, down the cliff. The monster was going to kill them both. Sam was running over, attempting to help him. Mark shook his leg, trying to dislodge the monster, but it clung on. Sam had picked up some big rocks and was pelting the thing with them.
Finally, after what seemed like a thousand rocks, the thing slipped… and was lost to the ground.
Sam reached for Mark’s hand – but faltered. He pondered. There was only one soul. There were two of them. Sam wanted to escape so badly. And his invention would help so many people. He was more important. He had to live, he had to live. He was worth more… He was better than Mark. And this was a perfect opportunity. Scheming Mark… if Sam pulled him up, no doubt Mark would try to sabotage him for his own gain, to steal the soul from him.
“What is it Sam?” Mark asked.
Sam’s eyes narrowed, and Mark’s widened.
“No. No, you don’t have to do this Sam. Please.”
Sam said, “No. I do have to do this. I see you lying, plotting, trying to steal my future from me… I deserve it more. I need it more. I want it more!” And with that final yell, Sam stomped on Mark’s hands, and he fell to the same demise as the monster just before him. Sam turned around before Mark hit the ground, but he couldn’t help hearing it. It was sickening.
But he had won… but at what cost… It mattered not.
Sam walked over to the gravestone and dug out a glimmering marble-sized pearl-like object. The light emanating from it captivated him. But then it faded to a dark, dark purply black. Then the light reached out, in tendrils of the same dark purple. It covered him, cocooning him. Then, he began to rise.
And then he was gone, flying up, out of this wretched place.
Part Five – Alternate Ending
Mark stood up, feeling triumphant. He began to walk over to Sam, but a hand grabbed his ankle – the monster was clinging on to the edge! Mark was grabbed, and pulled backwards, down the cliff. The monster was going to kill them both. Sam was running over, attempting to help him. Mark shook his leg, trying to dislodge the monster, but it clung on. Sam had picked up some big rocks and was pelting the thing with them. Finally, after what seemed like a thousand rocks, the thing slipped… and was lost to the ground.
But no… Mark had helped him. He had pulled him up earlier. How could such a person plot to steal such hope from him? And even if he did, Mark had endangered his own success to help him, so Sam had to pay it back. He reached out a hand to him, a peace offering. Mark was dragged up, just as Sam had been.
Together, they walked to the grave.
Sam spoke. “Take it.”
“What?” said Mark.
“I said take it. Whatever you want it for, you are a much better person than me. You showed me kindness even when you didn’t have to. You deserve it more than me.” “But don’t you want it? Being able to live… that’s what everyone here wants.” “I know that if I let you have this, then I’ll be as kind and good hearted as you. And who knows, if I ever get another chance, maybe I’ll deserve it because of this. Go on. Take it.” “Okay. Thank you. I hope I might see you again one day. But for now… goodbye, Sam.”
And Sam dug into the grave. He withdrew a marble-sized pearl like object, which emanated with a white glow. Slowly, glowing white tendrils spread out from it, wrapping him, covering him. Once he was completely covered, he began to rise. And as Sam flew up, out of this wretched place, Mark liked to think that he heard him say, one more thing.
“Thank you, Sam…”