From inside the old Victorian-era home, the view from a second floor window framed an empty field where the village once upon a time was astir with the shadows of the butcher, the baker, the farrier, and well, the undertaker. The home had always served as a respite for the wayward passing through the night. Scholars, visionaries, peddlers, and gypsies, all had been drawn to the village, all with their own insights and offerings for the villagers future well being, knowing too that the village had been chosen by a higher presence for passage into the beyond, and a new world.
Through that open window of the empty home revealed the pleasant scents of lilacs and assorted wild flowers mixed with the airiness of the bay, where the lighthouse once stood through the night, serving as a beacon for those travelers and traders. The events of that fateful night a hundred years ago had never been recorded in the history books ~ that magical portal of time ~ when the villagers walked away under a torch filled night onto the mighty and massive ship that had arrived just after midnight at eight minutes past, and appeared to be from somewhere beyond with its heavy wooden hull and metallic-like helm, with tattered sails of voyages across the seas from a time long ago, but with engines, rocket ports, cockpit bubbles, gunner sights, and signal lights like something from beyond their horizon. The villagers, aware they would never be returning, had gathered up to await the mystical vessel of time-passage as they were expecting its arrival. Many were holding fashioned torches made from oil soaked cloth wrapped around cut tree branches, while others held their babies and guided their children along, leaving all their belongings behind, as they formed lines to assemble onto the gangways, leading them to the companionways, and onto the various decks of the anachronistic vessel. It was a ceremonious departure, carried out in ritual silence, and with an internal rhythm shared by all.
As the futuristic yet archaic craft turned toward the horizon and began to disappear into the night, the glow from the makeshift torches faded into the calm of a blackened seafaring night, into a time yet to be, never to return again. Into the greatest mysterious portal of time passage ever known to man ~ the highest point on the celestial sphere, at the zenith to the heavens ~ beyond the magnetic pole of the north, where the gateway to a new world awaited them.
The villagers had been chosen for a voyage into the beyond, to a new world due to their diversity ~ butcher, farmer, baker, mid-wives, farrier, seamstress, tailor, and undertaker ~ and their purity because they had lived throughout the years in the same traditional ways that generations before them had been brought up and without the interruption of modern technology, the carnival antics of politics, and the targeted marketing and programming that the rest of the world had been indoctrinated with. The small village was located far away from the modern world in a enchanted place where time had stood still ~ undocumented in recorded history ~ away from the influences and dependencies that plagued and controlled those trapped in the illusion of modern civilization. In the new world, the villagers would once again be the very fabric of life, and a foundation for those lives yet to be.
The village would eerily remain afterward, with the sounds of water occasionally lapping at the rocks where once stood the lighthouse. As the seasons would come and go, what had been left of the village deteriorated and fell into disrepair. The land underneath withered as the village crumbled, and would later be swept away with the tides, leaving but a few remnants scattered and buried, left to be discovered one day a hundred years later.
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