[ ee-OH-lee-un ]
- Borne, deposited, produced, or eroded by the wind.
** Either a story beginning, a story ending, a piece of flash fiction, a poem, painting, dance move—inspired by the word, eolian, where does it take me? Where does it take you?
It was the voice of angels, some said. Ghosts, said others. The tales and legends could agree on only one thing: the wind did indeed carry a secret message, a voice that spoke to the citizens of the small town nestled at the bottom of a mountain valley.
Carbl finished his pint of mead and waved for another from the barman. Carbl turned back to the men at the table, at Abestor’s awaiting stare, and shook his head, and rolled his eyes.
“I’m tellin’ ya,” Abestor said. “I heard actual words last night. Never heard more than whisperin’ gibberish before. I’m—”
“Ahh, cut it,” Carbl said. “That’s just superstitious nonsense, that is.”
“You must hear it, Carbl,” said Eddie. “You can’t deny there’s a voice in the air.”
“Oh, I hear it,” Carbl said, “but it’s no voice, and I’m going to prove it to everyone.”
“What are ya playin’ at?” Abestor said.
“I’m going out on a little expedition…”
“An expedition?” Eddie asked. “It’s been done a hundred times, Carbl. What could you do different?”
“Good point,” Abestor said, nudging Eddie on the shoulder. He looked back to Carbl, waiting.
“The difference,” Carbl said, “is that I won’t be going in search for some voice that’s not there. I won’t be looking for a person or an angel.”
“Whata ya searchin’ for then?” Abestor asked.
“For a scientific explanation,” Carbl said. “And I have a theory. A place to start for now. If I can show where the sound comes from, I can prove it’s no voice from the sky.”
“Well,” Eddie said. “I just don’t see why you’d want to even do somethin’ like that.”
“Yea, and since it is a voice,” Abestor said. “You’ll be comin’ up short.”
“We’ll see,” Carbl said. “I think the wind and the rocks of the mountain are simply whistling. I’ll prove it in time.”
Abestor rolled his eyes at Carbl and slumped back in his chair. The new pint of mead was plopped down in front of Carbl, and he took a long swig.
I’ll show them, he thought.
I tried to get all parts of the definition for eolian into the story, but I think some are still in my head. I got borne and produced, but the other ones are about where I see this story going (deposited and eroded).
This can be an excellent study of faith and religion, and its relationship with science. Carbl is the scientist, and the rest of the citizens of this town seem to be more faith-based. So, where do we want to explore, and what do we want to say? I think two things could be cool to dive into.
First, is if Carbl goes and finds the true scientific source. I imagine wind-carved tunnels in the mountain that produce sound waves that mimic singing or speaking when heard in the valley below. He presents his findings and utterly shatters the mythology behind the voice in the sky.
How would that affect people? Would it turn out better for everyone? Worse? There are some interesting ideas to explore how a shattering of our beliefs can change us.
Second, is if Carbl goes and discovers the opposite. That the voice is mystical and magical. It speaks to him, calls to him. Now it’s Carbl’s beliefs that are shattered, and we can see the different effects.
The first story idea is more a character study, and the second idea is more of a fantasy adventure tale.
What do you think of Eolian?
Which plot pathway would you want the story to take?
Leave your thoughts, your own story beginning/ending, flash-fiction, or whatever in the comments! Where did eolian or my story take you?
If you liked this story, check out my podcast of short stories, More Than A Story.
Today’s word is from Merriam-Webster.
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