Misha'al Memoria - A short story written according to the prompt presented in Fiction Comp.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
<center>![DesertCave.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmdE5Vob1UW7JrvuUdvd6zTDUPVwGLLc2viAKethZe8p3H/DesertCave.jpg)</center>
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Every night the winds howled, they sang ancient songs of the desert sand and untold tales under the moonlight while in his hole, he could not care less if the world was burning outside his cave- he had all he needed in his humble home.

The skies were marvelous paintings of palette smudges; always in the shades of the colors that occupied them as he would enjoy watching the hazy vista disappear into a murky horizon every dusk when the winds come back to talk and sing and curl upon the walls of his cave.

What man could want for more?

He had peace and tranquility and a wonderful bottle of red wine. He could always whistle a tune when he was bored and could always look upon old paintings and drawings from the yesteryear's of when he once enjoyed treks and rides through the town square and desert outskirts, but that was a long time ago and he had all the time in the world which was why he took to learning the guitar- 50 years was more than enough to have learned it with every fine chord and every efficient pluck that by now, he had become quite a virtuoso.

That night, the stars twinkled like marvelous winks from shy angels hidden in the veils of night while the winds were merciful to have allowed his guitar the respect of amplifying his wondrous playing like some siren in the desert night; calling to wary sailors if only ships could sail and be dashed upon the entrance of his cave in search of a beautiful muse with dancing fingers like soft feathers brushing upon hard tuned strings.

<center>![NightDesert.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmYLJaSeHkbxqpk2FfrNWdycMovuWZ4AuRN5W9cztyJyKh/NightDesert.jpg)</center>

The melody was as harmonious as it was aggressive for he would constantly shift from playing sweet and gentle harmonics to that of staccato flamenco-styled strums and taps against the side of his guitar accompanied by his singing and his hopes and dreams and regret and longing and most of all...his story.

“I’ve found you.” Echoed a sliver of a voice, it reverberated loudly against the uniformed melody of his guitar playing.

“...You’ve found who, Boy?” He asked while his strings fell into mute upon the padding of his palm laid over them.

“At last, I have found you!  You are exactly as she said you would be.”

Caution grew within him that moment, this stranger was after something and even if this was some ploy, the full 80 years of his life had given him a lion’s share of advantage over his trespasser; all he needed was a weapon which was over to the corner of the room where a crack between a bookshelf and the wall hid a long and deadly sword.

 “I’m afraid I do not like this conversation so please just state what you are here to say and leave!”

Tension built into the air was, even more, stifling within the confines of his cave, making it suffocating between them. The winds of the deserts had stopped blowing...they were no longer telling their tales...this time they were listening.

“I know who you are! My mother told me not to be afraid when I come to see you.”

The hollow emptiness of the cave screeched loudly when a chair was hurled off to the side and a shadow came to life instantaneously with a sword point jutted towards the boy’s throat, affording him but an inch from its dreaded tip and certain death.

“Who told you shouldn’t be afraid when you come to see me, enough games, boy! Tell me who you are or I will run you through with my sword!”

“Stop, please! Abuelo...I - -“

“I am Javier Jesus Mercedez De La Lupe.  I am your grandson, Sir. “

He withdrew his sword as quickly as he had it upon the boy earlier with a stain of shock replacing his anger not merely a moment ago

The thoughts of his past came tumbling back like a torrential flood, everything about his life and who he was, what he did and who he loved jarred his mind without mercy and with one look upon this boy, he saw the hints of his beloved daughter in his eyes full of the fire of youth that once burned in himself despite his never-aging for 50 years

“I know this is too much to take but the world needs you again, Grandfather. It has grown corrupt and without a predator to curb it, it has plagued the country with millions of innocent people suffering...how can you sit here with the gift you possess and let it just happen?”

“Mexico once cried out in pain when the Spanish took over their lives, our Gods had never forgotten them and so Xipe Totec himself, blessed me with the gift of power, strength, and immortality to protect all of Mexico ...but when your grandmother was taken from me, I gave up on life except for our sweet daughter who I married off to a handsome young merchant’s son...what more could you ask of me, Grandson?” 

“Mexico needs you again, Sir. It’s time to stop this sulking...It’s time again for the Fox to ride out into the night. It’s time again for justice... please...they took my little girl, your bisnieta.”

Anger snapped into him as he walked towards the ornate dresser set against the adjacent wall, the time has indeed come again...50 years was too long a rest. 

“Don’t worry, Nieto...You will have her soon.”

As the crying of an innocent child echoed in the night, the winds learned a new tale to sing as the neighing of an immortal steed broke into the calm silence of the desert and the Fox in the Hole galloped out of his cave and into the unseen roads of the sand with a mighty crack breaking into the air as a whip echoed in the dark distance.

That night, everyone learned again that all in Mexico was protected once more.

That night everyone remembered ZORRO.

END.