This is a piece of flash fiction from my Visual Thinking and Writing class at Full Sail University. It contains a heavy amount of research in Nordic Mythology. Here is list of all my research for the story,
Midgard, Valhalla- http:// www.viking-mythology.com/theNineWorlds.php#midgard
The Crimson Memory
The old man stared at the skyline. It burned a crimson familiarity. He clutches his forearms, remembering days he wishes were forgotten.
"Afi, look.” The little girl points beyond the horizon at the rising sun. “Sól’s beginning to climb out of the water again.”
The old man chuckles, “That’s not Sól, child.”
A young girl and her grandfather strolled from their town of Birka to the Eastern Sea’s shoreline. The water lapped at their feet.
The girl gave a quizzical look. “I don’t understand, the skalds told us, Sól rises every morning from the depths of the Eastern Sea and descends every evening into Lake Mälaren in the west.”
“The skalds, mere dreamers,” he says. “The nonsense they sing is myth. Sól collided into the sea and never rose again.”
“How do you know Sól collided into the sea?” his granddaughter asks.
The old man lumbers to a dead tree lying in the sand. He struggles to take a seat, wincing when his knees bend. His forehead creases as his gaze focuses on the waves cresting the shoreline.
“Afi?” the girl asks as she places her hand on his shoulder.
Startled, he looks up at her and says, “Come sit, I will tell you a story.”
“Alright,” the girl says. She sits facing her grandfather.
He starts, “A long time ago, an explorer named Baldr sailed in the upper sky on a ship made of light.” The old man directs his index finger up. “His flying ship was designed like a disk which he called Sól.”
The granddaughter’s regard tilts skyward, eyes widening in amazement but still silent.
“Baldr was restless,” the grandfather says. “He visited all the known worlds and yearned to discover his own. One day he journeyed to a new location in the upper sky, and after months of dodging floating rocks and flying in emptiness, he found nothi-”
“Wait,” the granddaughter interrupted. “How do rocks float in the sky?”
The old man wrinkled his forehead. “With magic, little one,” he said.
The girl’s face lit up. “Magic,” she says. “The skal-”
“Magic is not what my story is about.” Grandfather’s irritation was hard to disguise, but his expression softened. “May I continue?” he asked.
The granddaughter crossed her arms but nodded her head.
“Defeated, Baldr chose to return home,” grandfather says, “for fear he would be lost forever in the upper sky. Just as he bowed to return home, a distant blue dot entered his field of view. As he drew closer, he praised the stars, he had discovered a new world. Baldr named it Tera, but today we call it Miðgarðr (Midgard).”
“Miðgarðr.” The grandfather gestures to the ground.
“Afi, I know that,” his granddaughter says. “The skalds teach us some useful things, right?”
The old man places one hand on his wrinkled forehead. “I shall continue,” he says.
“Baldr flew towards the large blue orb and descended into the lower sky.” The grandfather gestured his hand in a downward motion. “He was impressed when he landed. This world was similar to his own, although he observed his feet seemed heavier. This insignificant detail, however, paled in comparison to his crowning discovery,”
“Why were his feet heavier?” the granddaughter asked.
“I will get to that later,” he said, “be patient.”
The girl began to fidget.
The grandfather continues regardless. “Baldr became aware that others resided on Miðgarðr. After spending a considerable amount of time meeting the indigenous people, exploring, and gathering data, Baldr decided to return home. Though he enjoyed visiting this new world, his heart belonged to the upper sky.”
The granddaughter began picking dirt from her fingernails.
“Baldr started his ship. With effort, it lifted into the air, but he realized something was wrong,” grandfather says.
The granddaughter’s eyes peered up.
The grandfather smiles and persists, “The ship was heavier on this world. Fire magic sustains Sol’s flight, but not all the hearths in Valhalla could keep Baldr’s ship aloft. His ship was a bright burning disk arching across the lower sky. The people below watched in wonderment as Sól careened like a dull dagger tearing a rugged slit into the universe. Sól’s light was extinguished as its course concluded in the Eastern Sea.”
Now attentive, the granddaughter places her hands over her mouth in astonishment.
“Don’t worry child, Baldr survived,” the old man says. “Sól filled with water as Baldr fought to open the ship’s hatch. Once submerged, the hatch was able to be opened. Baldr swam to the surface and headed towards the shore. Curious people who witnessed his ship crash gathered nearby.
“Once on land, gasping for air, Baldr threw his hands in the air and cried out, ‘Amen, my Father, please come to my aid.’” The grandfather’s head looks to the sky, the girl’s follows.
“Baldr’s forearms began to glow a crimson color,” he says. “It was a signal to let his father know he was in trouble. The light pulsed like a heartbeat, but he was too distant from his home world. The crowd stood in awe at the light pouring from his arms, and from that day forth he was known as Baldr the Light Bringer.”
“That’s an amazing story,” the granddaughter says, “but you’re wrong, Afi. The skalds told us that Baldr’s father was Odin, not Amen.”
The grandfather shakes his head in disdain as his granddaughter runs back towards the shore. He begins to feel the heat in his arms and rolls the hem of his sleeve. His hands shake, not out of fragility, but from the crimson memory.
“Come on Afi, I want to see the seals.” Her voice carries over distorted, almost inaudible above the crashing waves and the blood rushing in his ears.
With his shirt sleeve rolled up, the old man stares wordless at the red glowing beacon on his forearm, still pulsing like a heartbeat from the day he cried out to his father.
Having lived his life, the old man looked heavenward and says, “I’m ready to leave, Amen.”
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