05-05-2015, 09:53 AM
The passage of time isn't really straight forward, is it? One minute it is dark and black and warm and comfortable...beautiful, really. I am lulled by the endless nights, the cool breath of my mother's voice. And I know things in the way all sentient beings know things. I know that I am a child, and that I am comfortable and happy and my mother wishes the best for me.
Or something. We all feel that way at some time.
I don't understand the sudden changes, the stress, the sudden expulsion of myself into an entirely new environment. I think only of the beautiful warmth of just a few moments before, of the last few months, and I am stressed. I am coddled though, Mother cleans me and makes sure I am well fed. I follow her around for a few months, until my stomach can handle grass, until I am my own child, and then she leaves me.
Or, rather, I leave her. She's told me stories of who I am, of who I'm born of. She's told me little things here and there and I know I will learn the true weight of them one day soon. For now I am content to stand on the border of the frozen kingdom, feeling the prickling cold air on my skin, feeling my short black and green coat stand on edge for the cool. It's spring now, a season of coming warmth, but the air whispers something else.
Will they accept me? Will they see me and know who I am and disown me? I hope the green will throw them off, Mother told me so many stories.
Or something. We all feel that way at some time.
I don't understand the sudden changes, the stress, the sudden expulsion of myself into an entirely new environment. I think only of the beautiful warmth of just a few moments before, of the last few months, and I am stressed. I am coddled though, Mother cleans me and makes sure I am well fed. I follow her around for a few months, until my stomach can handle grass, until I am my own child, and then she leaves me.
Or, rather, I leave her. She's told me stories of who I am, of who I'm born of. She's told me little things here and there and I know I will learn the true weight of them one day soon. For now I am content to stand on the border of the frozen kingdom, feeling the prickling cold air on my skin, feeling my short black and green coat stand on edge for the cool. It's spring now, a season of coming warmth, but the air whispers something else.
Will they accept me? Will they see me and know who I am and disown me? I hope the green will throw them off, Mother told me so many stories.
Pyroclast