Dark days are upon us and even though we are a people of merriment and light I have caught looks of uneasiness in my peoples eyes. We have not heard from Lellinsha and I grow more tense with the coming days. I try to assure them that this world will soon come to pass and we will find ourselves in another place, stronger and clearer than what is to be held around us. They know that trusting the high council’s decision is the only way but I see the doubt creeping upon them and their songs are replaced by mutterings that threaten to shake their faith. I have been sorry to bring such news upon them, especially to my little Lyrathmus who no longer comes in for a story nor demands to hold my hand. My message has discomposed my people and I am afraid that before this storm is over they will be changed so that they cannot return to the glory of our days. I know better than to think of anything other than our exodus but the thoughts creep in and I wonder if we were better off staying here in this dying land than to have suffer a rent in our once strong selves. What gives me hope is that they listen and follow, though with a few grumblings and uncertainty, they follow and with this we will build again what we will soon lose here.
It was not alway so. We have tried slowly over the centuries to recapture what we have lost, to teach instead of turn away but to no avail. What once we thought we could remold and live in cooperation with has slowly devoured our life and caused a strife upon us. This was no longer in the hands of higher beings, those that have turned from us, those whom we turn away from and soon we will turn away forever. But before this we lived in adoration of those who have brought us to life and have taught us our ways. We excelled as a nation in living in harmony with things around us, we have brought to life beautiful creatures who would do well here, and bring forth only beauty and life.
I remember sneaking a peak at the people across the way while they played their music to cover up their grunts and groans, and I cannot think of Mary J. Blige without thinking of her song, Real Love, while they did it. I remember peering through the blinds after they were done and he was yelling, “I see you” and I had cowered back against the walls, creeping closer to the plants but he must have seen my shadow moving because he was again yelling across the emptiness between us “i see you” and I my heart had beaten so hard because I was caught and I was also thrilled because I had a crush on this guy who I’ve only caught glimpses of in the hallway. A few months later they were gone and they were replaced with a deaf woman who threw parties so that her people spilled out into the hallway all motioning and grunting while they played music and I wondered if they felt the beat pulsing against the hard cement, their way of listening to it. I would look into the eyehole and watch them in their silent world gesturing away while the music threatened to add me to their flock. One day there was a fight between two of them and all I could hear was “uh-uh, uh-uh” and one was making quick, aggressive gesture, one after the other while the other one would shove her hands to destroy the gestures and throw the finger at him. I laughed and laughed, while standing on our kitchen chair watching them through the eyehole.
