The House at the Crossroads of the World

[a short story by    ~burning woman~    as told by Sha’Tara]

As I sat by the River one day and pondered the state of the world I had a thought: I will build myself a home at the crossroads of the world. So I did.

My home had a good roof but it had no walls, just posts holding it up. I planted ivy, honeysuckle, clematis and sweetpeas by each post and they grew swiftly and beautifully. I was very pleased.

First a family of refugees passed by and they came in to rest, drink of the cool, clean water and eat from the garden I had planted. Sated and after a good sleep their children ran out and played in the fields. Their laughter filled the air and more birds sang.

A couple of starving, ragged men came by and asked if they could stay for a while. I smiled and said, ‘Look, no walls, anyone is welcome here.’ They were gays who had been persecuted and escaped with only their lives and the clothes on their backs. Soon they were playing with the children and entertaining them with tales and magic tricks.

A group of migrant workers heading north came by and also partook of this unexpected hospitality. They were earth people and soon they had my garden cleaned and explained about plant symbiosis. I could grow much more food if I did it right. I learned much from them in that too short a time.

Some young girls came running, crying, and stopped at the house. I invited them in and they shyly came, sat down and explained they had escaped from a van filled with sex slaves bound for the black market. They got washed in the creek, ate and slept together in a corner of the house.

The honeysuckle was in full bloom and its sweet smell filled the house. In the dark we sat in the house and sang, each her or his own songs and everyone listened in awe. It was so good to find each other here and not worry about any difference.

It was too good, actually. They had watched the comings and goings to and from the house and in that country the government and its propaganda press declared that it was a terrorist training center. So they sent the drones.

We are all dead now. I am dead too but since I am mind and not matter I am made of memories. This story is a memory, and it is real.

There is no longer a house at the crossroads of the world though there are walls everywhere and for that reason the world is dying.

13 thoughts on “The House at the Crossroads of the World

  1. Woebegone but Hopeful

    The way this rises and drops in picturing Humanity is most impressive Sha’ Tara.
    Last three paragraph.
    One brings the whole story down to grim reality
    Penultimate causes it to rise again as the narrator is forever
    And in the final comes the warning.
    Good work

    Reply
  2. Anonymous

    The comment section seems to be working for me here. Sorry you can’t post your own comments. Thanks to those who sent private email comments to shatara@telus.net I promise to respond ASAP.

    Reply
  3. Sha'Tara Post author

    Sorry, Anonymous, I really don’t know how WordPress managed to post my comment under your name/Gravatar. Probably shall remain a mystery to all of us. If you did comment, there was no text in your comments…???

    Reply
  4. Hyperion

    A well done parable for this world of psychological and physical walls. I’m very positive this house exist in many places and hopefully only those who can partake of its kindness will ever find them.

    Reply
    1. Sha'Tara Post author

      Thanks for your comment Daniel. Yes the house at the crossroads exists still and has had many landlords and tenants. But unless it exists on some hidden Nexus world such as my temp home world of Altaria, the house will always be discovered by those who wish to exterminate the demonstration of compassion on this world and will be desroyed. No such “safe-house” is safe here.

      Reply
      1. Hyperion

        Sadly true Sha’Tara. Still, I prefer it exist wherever and for as long as possible. A shelter in a storm will always be needed by someone and finding that shelter can change a person’s life in a meaningful way. To pay it forward is one way to keep compassion alive.

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