Solomonari:Fables/Tales/The Chant of Life
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The Chant of Life
[Joseoh] | [5/24/2026]
Deep sorrow has struck the lineage of Strawsberry, as death devoureth the soul of the newborn Noah, the stillborn cast into the abyss of oblivion before its eyes even part. The mother’s eyes became dark from sorrow, the constant mourning morphing the contours of her face into a rotten grimace, a shadow of the former, life-exuding figure she once was. The son sequestered himself from the view of all, a living corpse devoid of joy, set in humble chambers which were once lit with radiance. The father was the only one who took attempts at rejuvenating the sorrowful family, regularly forcing everyone to take collective walks outside or enjoy the peace of nature… yet even he grieved in the shrouded darkness of the moon, restless for hours.
Thus, weeks passed, as life would progressively get worse, until… one day, the father returned from the grueling clerical occupation. Inside his working bag, designed much akin to a medical one, there hid a very… unconventional piece of literature. Hearing of the loss inside the family, his colleague gifted the symphony dubbed “The Chant of Life”. The composition itself was exceptionally crafted, a work of a true master composer exuding excellence in every chord. The vocal aspects of the work though, they baffled and amused the grieved man. Strange syllables written in a language he has never witnessed in his entire life, letters blending together, creating a cacophony of inexplicable illocution. Perhaps the author wanted to attract the interest of the observer through such a unique expression…
After the grief stricken family had dinner, the father gazed unto the art before him, utterly baffled by the incomprehensible nature of the text. Which, nonetheless, seemed to allure the man, as if he could distinguish letters, expressions and syllables. The text did provide a new meaning of life to the man, an inspiration. In parallel though, the grieving family would get progressively worse, the cycle of grief never leaving the mother and the son, as each locked inside their rooms. Fading slowly, like unto a branch cut off from the tree…
One day though, the father wouldn’t return for long hours… Deep into the night, the door barged in violently, thrashed with urgency. Acting instinctively, the son would immediately rush and fetch a simple hunting rifle from a hidden shelf in his closet. The son descended into dread, only to find a dirt covered father with a tiny, dead infant in his hands. The son was startled and utterly motionless for a moment, as the father delicately placed the infant onto the rough wooden floor. The commotion had also woken up the mother, as the father expected, and the distraught lady slowly made her way downstairs, as the father expected… With a cautious voice, he began to speak:
“This may seem insane and unethical right now… but please trust me. I hate seeing you ruined day by day, by grief and distraught over the death of our son and thus, I had to make this choice, for the sake of you and me…”
The father would utter, his voice a delicate whisper, wavering from grief, each syllable carrying the immense pain of the loss…
“Please… repeat after me…”
Thus, the confused, yet, hopeful son and mother would sing…
The next day, the radiant joy returned into the household, as the infant would be sat alongside the family, his smile full and his eyes scarlet…