The Alchemist Epilogue by Michael Moore

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Santiago made his way back to the village, close to where he spent time with his sheep, to see the Gypsy who had told him of his future. The village had not changed. As he walked towards the narrow street he saw a woman sitting by the village well; she was talking to a young girl and smiling. He overheard her saying that she had been married to the Butcher’s son and that she was happy. As Santiago passed he noticed that the new bride was the Merchant’s daughter, the girl that he had fantasized about when he was a shepherd returning books to the bookstore. 

The boy left the square and found his way to the colored beads at the entrance to the Fortune-teller’s home. The image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus sat on the table as if time had never passed. The old mystic silently greeted him and closed her eyes to pray. 

“So young man, tell me of the dream lived and destiny followed,” she said as she looked up from under her hat. 

Santiago began to tell his story to the ancient woman, starting from the moment he first met her. The Gypsy woman eagerly listened, enchanted by all the places the boy had been and by the things he had seen and experienced since he left her door. 

“So you found the treasure right under your nose. The powers that be work in mysterious ways.” She placed a bucket on the table. “And now I would like my tenth.” Santiago filled the bucket with precious jewels. The old Gypsy stood, smiled, and surprised the boy as she danced the dance of a young woman. She threw her hat in the air and praised the image of the Sacred Heart. 

“Go boy, you are still young and have true love waiting for you at the oasis,” she said with a glint in her eye. 

Santiago stood and began to make his way to the door. 

“Wait,” the Gypsy woman called, “I do not want these. They are not treasures.” She slid something into Santiago’s pocket and led the boy outside. 

When he reached the main square, Santiago put his hand in his pocket to see what the old Gypsy had given back to him. In his hand was Urim and Thummim, the white and black stones that came from the King’s breastplate.


Michael K. Moore is an aspiring writer and holds a BA Writing, English & Classics and an MA Writing. He has worked in AI/Film/TV/Publishing for a number of years and is currently the Managing Editor of an Arts and Literature magazine.

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