One of my resolutions this year is to spend more time writing. So I'm working from an old book of writing prompts (A Writer's Book of Days — great book; it has a lot more to it than just writing prompts!).
"A year after your death ..."
"A year after your death, your soul will be gone from here. I don't believe in ghosts." His face was turned away from me, but I could hear him just fine. The weird light that struggled through the rain flickered oddly over the planes of his face that I could see. I wasn't sure I wanted to see his face as he explained this to me, but he turned to face me.
"You will be gone, but the knowledge you hold will not. That knowledge will pass to another, and we will guard that other as we guard you. That is our purpose: to guard, to keep that knowledge that is too dangerous to spread safe and to protect that knowledge from oblivion."
His eyes were freakishly intent. In his son, those grey-green eyes were handsome and appealing. But set in his face, they seemed cold and and calculating. Me, I didn't matter to him. Only the knowledge I held.
Well, screw him.
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