The Hinge - a short story

The Hinge

There once was a small village with a meek clergyman. The clergyman shepherded a little church next to the cemetery atop a hill. Down from the church was a single sloping cobbled street. On both sides of the street were two rows of houses of various colors with shrubberies, and shops of all kinds of trade – all framed by tall trees on either side. It was a quiet village that led down to the Old Mill which was owned by the Mayor. The Mayor was known to visit a brothel from time to time at a nearby village across the bog. The Old Mill had a large wood crane which peered over the river. Here, the Mayor distilled his various spirits for the town and for merchants who passed by the Old Mill along the river. Each fall the villagers embraced their annual festival – it was the highlight of the year. Unbeknownst to the people, the entire village leaned on the Old Mill just as they leaned on the Mayor – for the festival hinged on his planning. 

"Gold Hill Shaftesbury Dorset" by 2create 
is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0. 

Just six days before the festival, on one Saturday night and into the next morning, the Mayor was away on business at the village across the bog. On this particular Sunday morning a single rusty old hinge on the wood crane of the Old Mill snapped. With a loud splash, the crane plunged into the river and pulled the Old Mill along with it. The village shook and one by one each house and shop slid down the hill and crashed into the river. Sadly, the people who were in their homes and shops were swept into the river and washed away. Others in the street gasped and  screamed – but were spared. They cried out in fear and mourned the loss of the other villagers. Their village was lost.

In their tears of dismay, they looked up the hill as the sunrise illuminated the cross atop the church – which was still standing. The shocked clergyman started to run down the hill to embrace his fellow villagers in comfort and service. An elderly man who was standing by the hardware store – where it once stood – picked up a shiny brass hinge and carried it with him as he started for the church. Some of the villagers remained in stunned silence and wished to cling to what they once had and who they had lost. Others murmured to each other and soon the look of emptiness came over them. One by one, they slowly followed the elderly man who was first greeted by the clergyman in the street. As they walked, the clergyman slipped on a loose cobble. Two others around him kept him from falling. With mixed laughter and tears they continued to walk up the hill passed the cemetery toward the church - toward the cross.