Member-only story
The Fable of Abigail
A Very Short Story
They called her Abigail, but no one knew her birth name. Once upon a time, in the old world, she had had many names — but that was many reincarnations ago. The world spun on its axis, becoming a fixture for some, while the old stories were lost to some other sphere.
She was someone who walked through the world and saw things no one else saw: she observed the happenings of a thousand lifetimes in the breath of a moment. But it was not meant to be that she would walk free.
No, she had so many masters — all of them trying to chain her up by the mind even as she screamed inside to be released.
These were the kind of ways they talked about in Books of Old, long ago, and it was just because — long ago — she had defied the wrong man.
This man had been wealthy, and he wanted her for a wife — even though he had hundreds — but she would not bow to him.
That man had been King David, and he had cursed her for her treachery.
You see, not all stories are written down. Men tell the tales, after all, while women have been silenced. Their stories were underscored — scorched from the pages — unless they did the things that the men wanted.
It’s been that way for a long time, I fear.
