The unknown spirit 🦹

Kavinya was seven when she died.

Born without a voice, she had never heard a sound nor spoken a word. One evening, a sudden accident pulled her from the world.

For the first time, her soul heard a sound — a bark.

A dog stood before her and spoke:

 “I can offer you 13 years. Not here, but in another universe. You will speak, hear, live… but after 13 years, you’ll return.”

She agreed.

In that world, sound surrounded her. She learned to speak, laugh, cry. At sixteen, she fell in silent love. At twenty, she became a reporter — a voice for the unheard. At forty-five, her borrowed time ended.

She stood before God.

 “I accept the 13 years you gave me,” she said. “But I cherished something else you gave — the feather, the dog, and the moon.”

The dog meant loyalty — it may or may not come in life.

The feather meant trust — it may stay or fade.

The moon meant happiness — it may grow, remain, or disappear.

She heard a knock.

At the door stood a figure — short, with mismatched eyes, limbs strangely stretched, and his body pale as bone.

 “You were the most disliked in six past lives,” he said, “but now you are one of the most loved. I come for the most loved and the most hated. I do not know if you are good or bad. I take their life and keep their memories. If they do not fit, I burn them away. I meet the good soon, and the evil sooner — because I am already at their door.”

He stepped closer.

 “Now tell me… where am I?”