Hellstrøm’s Dream No. 562

I stood on the mountaintop, laughing at the fools below, and a little man came up the path and asked me, what was I doing? I told him, it’s none of your bee’s wax, upon which he tugged my sleeve insistently, and told me I had an arrow that belonged to him… What is this arrow you speak of, you fat little man, I asked. There are no arrows here, only snow, and hard cold stone, of beauty unsurpassed, with the exception only of the warm beauty of my bride. Ah, he said, the very arrow I speak of is lodged in this woman, your bride. I’ve run out of arrows, there simply aren’t enough to go ’round. I need it back! matterhorn-2893_1920

A terrible thought entered my mind: that if he got his arrow back I would lose my bride. My face went black with rage, and I struck the little man a blow, so hard that he stumbled, and fell from the mountaintop with a faint scream to the fools below. In that moment I knew that my bride was now after all lost to me, and that my days were cursed.
I descended among the fools, and I was as a fool, and I was no longer myself, and my bride saw me but did not know me, for I had killed the fat little man, and with him all love was let out of the world, with a vast, deep sigh. There were no more arrows, no more love. Nevermore. And I wept, fool that I was, and did not know why. I wept, and I woke up weeping.

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