Home
By Vitora
Sara had no plans for New Year’s Eve—her flat was silent and
deserted, as usual. The only sounds to
be heard were her ancient gray tom cat purring as he snoozed on the hearth near
the still-warm embers, and the resident flock of sleepy pigeons cooing softly on
the roof above. Sighing, Sara tidied up
the remains of the makeshift feast she had prepared for herself before pulling
on her bathrobe and seating herself in the creaky rocking chair to knit the
night away.
She was surprised to hear the doorbell, moments before
“Who—who are you?” she quavered, self-consciously pushing
her glasses up on the bridge of her nose.
Trembling, she reached out her other wrinkled hand towards the
unicorn. To her surprise, he didn’t shy
away, but instead nuzzled her gently and spoke in a deep, rich voice that was
full of love.
“Sara, my child, I have come to take you home.”
Sara was not afraid.
She hobbled closer to the unicorn and threw her arms around his neck. “I’ve been waiting,” she told him softly.
“I know,” he replied.
“Now, let us go. The night grows old,
and the moon is nearly overhead. The
passageway will only be open for a short time.
Climb on my back, Sara, and hang on to my mane.”
The old lady did as she was bid; the unicorn kneeled down to
help her mount. As soon as her frail
fingers were intertwined in his mane, he spread his beautiful white wings and
made a graceful leap into the sky. Away
from the tiny home the pair soared, straight up towards the moon and the stars,
which seemed brighter than ever before.
Soon, a glorious door loomed ahead of them, bathed in
moonlight. It was constructed of a
brilliant metal, gold in color, which reflected the beams back onto the
snow-white coat of the unicorn, leaving luminous patterns dancing across his
back and up on Sara’s face. The woman
could not surpress the giggle of joy that bubbled to her lips.
The unicorn continued to fly straight towards the door,
lowering his head so that his horn faced it.
Before they crossed the threshold, Sara turned to look one last time at
the scene below her: the city, encircled by the arms of night, looked peaceful
and quiet, as though no evil, no pain or death or sickness, had ever touched it. Only a few lights dared to disrupt the
darkness, one of which was Sara’s own.
Lifting a wizened hand to her lips, she blew a delicate kiss towards her
house.
“Goodbye,” she whispered, “I’m going home.”
The unicorn’s horn broke through the door, sending ripples
of moonlight out in all directions. His
wings folded in and they disappeared into another dimension, where there was no pain, no fear, no
hatred—only love. Sara smiled and closed
her eyes. As her shape melted through the
door, a comforting thought passed through her mind.
I am home.