Hope in the Dark

The rain was still falling. It seemed like it had been weeks since Aria had felt the warm heat of the sun or even seen its golden corona in the heavens. The weather was not always this bad, here, but lately it seemed as if every single day was a typhoon—windy, rainy, and, all in all, downright depressing.

The high vaulted ceiling of the cathedral seemed to amplify the drum beats from above, seemingly rocking on its own foundation. Every window was dark and clouded, and the stained glass portraits of biblical times gone by had not shown in the last lights of day, not since the clouds came. Each buttress supported the tall spire, a beacon of light in the dull and stormy day.

No one ever came to this place, once so filled with the worshipers at services. The town had left, shedding their roots and departing from this now decrepit city. It wasn’t always this way, and Aria now struggled to remember what it used to be like. The city had been full of life, culture, dreams, and so many people saw it as the utopia, but that is no more. The buildings had long since fallen, and the dust had settled over the years. Only Aria remained, sixty years since the nobles had fled, sixty years since her people abandoned this place, and sixty since her love had gone, disappearing with the rest of their generation.

All that was left of this once prosperous urban sprawl was Aria, cold and lonely. Her skin sagged around her eyes, and her battered and callused soul wanted nothing more than the solitude she saw around her. Her once shining hair was now dull and gray, and her eyesight, ruined by years without light, was withering away with the woman, but what did it matter? There was no one to see her, and there was no one to see.

The bells in this sanctuary of God no longer ring, but the feelings of hope seem to remain in the building, as if they were built into its stone foundation so many years ago. Oddly enough, this was the only building untouched by the floods and fires, a place of prayer that was safe from harm, somehow blessed by the Lord who had doomed modern buildings and churches of steel and glass.

It began to get lonely at this point in the day. The morning always seemed brighter, but as noon came and past, the hope of the day faded with the hidden sun. Aria was left alone still, another night on the floor of the familiar cathedral, with is damp smell and its faith lost. Every night’s sleep came just as troubled as the last. The constant sound of branches against the stone walls, rustling in the wind, drifted through the hall, as the old and forlorn woman lay on the floor. Her slumber was light and with a bit of a fright, she woke. An eerie sound seeped towards Aria, echoing against the granite and shale.

With each passing second, it grew louder, more frequent, more congested. Aria could not place this sound, so deeply etched in her mind, but so covered in the dust of years gone by.

It was footsteps.

All around her, footsteps echoing, thousands of feet, marching, dragging, and running. Aria squinted through the darkness, as some fire in her mind lit up the night. Even through vision clouded by age, she could see who they were. They were all like her, shabby and battered, but their eyes gleamed with hope. Someone seemed to be pushing their way through the mob, now silently clustered around the solitary old woman.

Pushing his way through the crowd of weary and destitute was someone who her heart recognized well before her mind, her lover from long ago. His face was wrinkled and his hair thin and silver, but as he put his arms around her, bring Aria close to his frail body, he said softly, “We’re home.”