The Night the Stars Fell Silent
In a quaint little village nestled between rolling hills and enveloped by a green canopy of ancient trees, there was a lore that had been passed down through generations. It spoke about a night when the stars fell silent. This tale has been a source of both wonder and fear to the townsfolk.
The old and wise elder of the village, Grandpa Elias fondly remembered the first time the story was gently whispered into his young ears. His grandmother, with eyes as bright as the shimmering cosmos she described, had narrated how one ordinary evening, the heavens took an extraordinary turn.
This occurred many years ago, when the village was just budding into existence. The night had descended as familiarly as always. The twinkling stars adorned the ebony sky like sprinkles on a black velvet cake. The villagers were retiring to their simple huts when suddenly, one by one, stars began to lose their sparkle until the night fell into an unnatural state of pitch darkness. It was as if the sky had swallowed all the light.
A strange silence ensued, enveloping the entire village. The night owls ceased their hooting, the whispers of the wind escaped, and the chirping crickets hushed. The villagers, shrouded in darkness and fear, waited with bated breath.
As the confusion and fear permeated through the dark, a solitary old woman, known to many as Blind Bertha, stepped out of her small shanty. She was blind from birth, but she sought visions unperceived by the sighted. She had a serene calmness surrounding her that night. Her sightless eyes were pointed towards the black, empty expanse above.
Silence blanketed the village as the people watched Bertha's lips move in inaudible prayers. Her frail form seemed robust in the eerie quietude. She raised up her hands towards the sky, and a faint melody poured out of her lips.
She sang about lost times, about peace, about fear and bravery. Each note rose higher, bringing an atmosphere of calm to the confused and frightened villagers. And as her song reached its ensemble, an unseen force seemed to pulsate across the silent plateau.
After an hour, just as abruptly as they had died, one by one, the stars began to twinkle once again, gradually illuminating the village. The wind resumed its whispers, the owls their hooting, and the crickets their music. The village, no longer shrouded in darkness and fear, sighed in relief. It felt as if time had restarted.
Blind Bertha descended back into her humble shanty, leaving the awestruck villagers behind. She never spoke about that night again, but the villagers knew, she was their unacknowledged guardian. A mystic, who despite being encapsulated in her darkness, brought light to them.
As Grandpa Elias concluded, the huddled children, their eyes reflecting the flickering fire, remained silent. The wind whistled outside, the only sound breaking the hush. All eyes had drifted towards the starry night, half in fear, half in awe. It was a story that defined their past, and it was a story that would shape their future.
Their village was not ordinary. It was a village which had experienced a night like no other. A night when the stars fell silent and a blind woman sang.