The Harp

I stumbled once more on the slippery rocks of the pool. I cried out in pain as the stones cut my hands and knees, but I had to keep going. I was so close, yet so far. Dog, behind me, whimpered in exhaustion and placed his tail between his skinny legs. The poor animal collapsed to his belly, unable to continue.

“Come on, boy. We’re almost there.” In truth, I had no idea how much longer I would have to push my legs forward. The song had been calling to me for weeks, maybe months. It tortured my mind as I slept, kept me moving as my eyes were open.

The pup wouldn’t move. I was now faced with a decision. Continue onward, and be faster while alone, to help my only companion and friend, and slow my progress. My head was ready to explode. Why? Why was this happening to me?

I sighed, knelt down in the water, and gently placed both my hands on the soft fur.

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The creek was getting larger. The water was up past my ankles, and I was beginning to see small silver fish now and then. But I could not stop to catch one now. The song was louder, more persistent, and though my strength was fading quickly, I pushed on, gasping for breath, sleeping little.

Dog, however, pounced on the slippery fish whenever occasion would permit. He was the same little puppy that I had met at the beginning of my journey.

I abandoned by stick. My fingers had not the strength to grip its thick wood. I was now walking without aide, without knowing. My legs moved on their own. My feet had grown numb in the cold mountain water, and my ankles swollen from being twisted and torn. The music called me on; I could not stop.

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I wasn’t sleeping anymore. I was afraid that if I did, I would not wake. No, I only stopped moving to grip my tortured feet and use what little power I had left to heal them enough to keep walking. My little four-legged friend often had to drag me over the ever-larger rocks blocking my path along the stream.

I was so close. I could hear the sweet melody, even feel it pulsing through my veins. My journey was almost at an end.

As my feet kept the rhythmic movement forward and the music pounded in my ears, I thought of the beginning of my journey. I remembered the man telling me there was no harp, no music. I was about to prove him wrong.

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It was just around the bend. Somehow, I knew my music was only a few feet away. But I could not make it. My strength was gone. I had nothing left. My magic was gone…my tale was over.

The dog was determined to believe otherwise. His strong jaws gripped my arm gently, and he pulled me through the mud a few feet before I was able to stand again. Then I saw it.

The harp. Its golden frame reflected the sunlight and its beautiful strings moved with the music. I could not believe my eyes. Such a sight to behold…but I couldn’t make it. I sank back into the water. Now I would never be able to touch the instrument’s glorious strings.

I felt a tug on my torn sleeve and I wearily lift my head. It was unbelievable. The harp was now inches from my face. I looked at Dog and he seemed to smile at me. “Good boy,” I whispered hoarsely.

I reached out a shaky hand. The harp was now mine. But the moment my fingers collided with the golden harp, it vanished and the music left me. The dog had gone, too. My heart sank. ‘So it’s true,’ I thought. ‘There never was a harp.’ I collapsed, fully wasted, and sank into darkness. The last thing to cross my mind was, ‘Imagination is a dangerous thing.’ Then I was no more.