Threadless T-Shirts - the cleric and the blackbird

the cleric and the blackbird by mikemills

Scoring finished:

661 days ago

Submitted on:

Dec 12 '06

Scored by:

2,691 people

Comments:

30 comments

Final average score:

2.05 out of 5

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by mikemills

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Bartholomew was only 60 years old when he decided he would be the next to spend the night beneath the one-flowered rosebush. The other clerics marveled at his audacity: most of them were well into their nineties and hundreds, and still considered themselves too green in their letters to approach the magical brier – let alone walk the rosebush path that so closely marked the limits and safety of their parish. Indeed, only three had lived long enough to acquire the courage to lay beneath it since the formation of their order some two-hundred and forty years ago, and though none who had slept there had woken changed, so none were said to have stayed the same.

And still the rose remained.

It was not, however, for any one cleric to stand in the way of another once he had decided to sleep in the mythical bush’s tangled shade. And so at dusk on the evening of his sixtieth birthday, Bartholomew – a man whose vision was stunted only by the constant proximity of an open book – gently removed his shoes, and slowly, reticently, walked the gravel path to the one-flowered rosebush.

Sleep claimed Bartholomew almost as soon as he lay his head upon his arms, and in what felt like only moments he opened his eyes again to a morning filled with rippling colors, succulent breezes, and – it seemed – the gentle flapping of two rapidly receding wings. He turned his head and glanced quickly into the sky, but saw only the briefest smudge of feathery black against a panorama of sycamore green.

And what green! Had he never noticed it before? He smiled to himself and, wondering at the strangeness of this new muscular contraction, smiled again at his own smiling. He turned on his elbow to push himself to his feet, and only then noticed the rose-petals that lay slowly graying upon the earth at his side. His heart tightened like a fist in his sudden grief, and he reached out quickly to gather up the pieces of the broken flower when a gust filled with strange, extravagant perfumes lifted the petals into the air and toward the woodland that thickened beyond the parish boundaries. Though it puzzled him, Bartholomew laughed again – more heartily this time than before – and wondered again at his own merriment, and stood and followed the dancing petals toward the trees.

And the clerics, who had watched Bartholomew sleep in perfect peace throughout the night, dropped their tattered books upon the floor at their feet, removed their shoes, and stood and followed Bartholomew into the forest.

Kevin Peake on Dec 12 '06

Good job mike. Great illustration and nice story. $5

Petanca on Dec 12 '06

Lovely 5$

stingerstyler on Dec 12 '06

Awesome. I love this new art-form you have created with a story and illustration together. It would be cool to have a print of the story with the shirt if they print it!

I think the story gives me the shivers man, great stuff!