• Sayulin woke to find his house empty of both his family and his furniture. The world around him was whirling and he stumbled as he stood up. His senses started to open up and faintly, Sayulin could smell the stench of rotting flesh. It seemed to come from outside and he fumbled with his legs, forcing them to move forward. He gripped the side of the door and stared out. The sight that was before his eyes moved him to tears and to his knees. The village looked like it had been destroyed by an earthquake. Most of the houses were charred black, though there were still a few which were lit like a candle. Many bodies lay limp on the ground and blood was spilt across the porches of houses like water. And Sayulin felt alone. More alone then he had every felt in his life. His thoughts ran around his head like the rivers that twisted through the mountains in the distance. His wife. His kids. The unborn baby that had no name. And he wept more tears then a hundred man could have in a life time. And so he left the village, for it held too many memories then his heart could handle. He walked towards the only thing could hold any hope. For his family, for his village, for himself. To the mountains.
    He walked for days. Once in awhile he stopped to drink from a trickling stream, but he did not eat, for Sayulin was afraid he would miss his chance to save his family. And so he walked.

    He found a lone hut on the border between the land and the mountains.The old monk who lived there was kind and would let Sayulin in if he told him his story. Sayulin looked at the monk with wonder and asked how the monk knew. The monk just said:
    "Your face is written with a story of loss and pain."
    So Sayulin sat and talked. He told the story from the beginning, as all stories must be told. His childhood and his wife. His joys and pains in life. And it felt good. Sayulin let the words slip through his lips, never leaving anything out but never stopping to think. The monk said nothing and listened with curious eyes. And when words no longer came to him, Sayulin stopped and silence filled the air. The monk stood up and said, "You should rest until tomorrow."
    The wise old monk put out a straw mat and Sayulin laid upon it with contentment. The mat felt as soft as the clouds the surrounded the mountains and for the first time in days, had peaceful dreams.