Success

Silence & Starsong presents the winner of its latest flash fiction contest, “Success,” by Ethan J. Nieminen. The prompt was to write a story that takes place within ten seconds of real time without using any flashbacks. Any genre was acceptable. Enjoy!

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“The choice lies before you. Which, friend, will you take for your own?”

Thus spoke the fair, strange man named Theseus—or at least such was the name he’d introduced himself by—as he sat cross-legged beneath the willow tree up the hill, his wares sitting a strangely large distance away from him, on a blanket, on the level bank of the river. He gestured again to the three items, saying nothing more than he already had—or at least, saying nothing with his smiling mouth. His green eyes glinted.

Marcus, still standing knee-deep in the river with his fishing net in his hand, had not yet gotten over the surprise of Theseus’s appearance, yet the choice of gifts so suddenly offered him was more surprising still. And so the fisherman did not look up the hill to inquire further into his benefactor’s identity; rather, he stared downward at the gifts.

His eyes settled first upon the lamp, a plain-seeming thing. Its frame was red, and it had only a twist of flowering metalwork upon its top for ornamentation; a white flame flickered inside it, dim in the sunlight.

“Take me,” whispered the lamp, as soon as his eyes fell upon it. “I will soothe your sorrows and guard your rest. Evil I cannot keep from setting foot on your doorstep or from setting foot on your heart, but never will the world seem barren of that which is good, for I am Contentment. However little Lady Fortune cares to offer us, we will accept it gladly; it is enough. Let us do our best with what we are given.”

Marcus’s surprise grew no less at being addressed with these words and many more as he stared at the presumably inanimate object; the words came and flew through his mind in an instant, leaving a meaning beyond words in their wake. The fisherman looked up to Theseus, strange emotions that he had never known beginning to stir in his heart. But Theseus merely continued smiling and gestured once more to the items. So Marcus looked once more.

The second of the three items was a terrible, thick black blade, single-edged, sunk deep into the earth, slashing the blanket the other wares sat upon; colourless it would have been were it not for the bloodstains which spoke of its use in days not long past. The sword was chipped and weathered and burned with such wear as only stone can withstand, yet its edge carried a bite sharper than steel.

“Take me,” whispered the sword, its hammering words passing by in a torrent as the lamp’s had. “I cannot offer invincibility, but I can take it away from that which you imagine to possess it. The flesh and blood standing before you, aye—but also the cowardice and weariness and despair standing inside you, all that which says ‘it can’t be done’. All alike my edge can cleave, for I am Strength, and I am revered as well as feared. Whatever is in your heart, we will strive for until we get, or else die gloriously in the attempt.”

Again, new and strange parts of Marcus’s soul awoke, and for the brief moment that he looked at the sword, they yearned with a force of which he had never felt the like.

Yet mighty though these feelings were, they choked as Marcus looked upon the final offering.

It looked like a golden jewel, and seemed more valuable than either gold or jewels. A glow lay within it that Marcus had never seen before, but it was as though he had been dreaming of it and what it promised for years. And this last item’s whispers were neither new nor strange—they were familiar. Very familiar.

“Take me,” it whispered. “Wealth in abundance I shall make yours. You need never work again so long as I remain with you, for at the lightest enchanted touch your affairs shall prosper. Have you not dreamed of me since the day you were born—have you not dreamed of the time when all shall go well for you? For so long as I remain with you, you need fear nothing. I am what so many men strive for in vain: I am Success. And I will make you the envy of the world.”

Marcus continued to stare at the jewel, enthralled. The jewel took the opportunity to pour more words through his mind.

“Would you even consider choosing that cheap lantern which you never felt the need for before now? Or perhaps you think you want the sword which you look at in terror, the sword which couldn’t possibly be cursed? I think not. Take me. The thing that you’ve striven to get your whole life. I am Success. I get what I want. I am what you want, and you know it. Take me, or regret your loss forever.”

Marcus waded out of the water as he stared, tossing his net on the bank. His body bent down and his fingers reached toward the jewel, almost of their own volition. His mouth opened to speak.

“This one,” he said, in the voice of a blind man seeing light for the first time.

Theseus’s face, heretofore friendly, grew grim and cold. “You choose like a slave,” he replied.

Then the merchant Theseus, if merchant was his occupation, if Theseus was his name, stood and scoffed, and the willow he stood beneath trembled. His eyes and clothes flashed green as the midsummer trees; he waved his arm imperiously and swept into the wind the lamp, the sword, the blanket, and himself.

Only the jewel remained, and it rolled off the swept-away blanket and into the river. Marcus seized at it, but like a fish it slipped out of his hands; nonetheless his face wore a grin as he dove beneath the rushing waters to secure his prize.