[private] let our walls cave in; memorie

[Memorie]

one lives in hope of becoming a memory

Things have been quiet in Taiga, more quiet than I am comfortable with. It is not a peaceful kind of quiet, or the kind of quiet that one could hear a pin drop a mile away, but something more empty, more lonely. I had expected that some day the land would be left to our generation, but that time should not have been now, not when we were still young and just coming into our own, just starting to explore the greater world and learning how to live in it. Yet here we are, the generation left to fend for ourselves, left to keep Taiga secure. And I can’t help but feel like a lot of that responsibility had been thrown on my shoulders, considering I was the only one left to revive the grasses that continue to sustain us through this darkness.

I listen to the winds howling through the trees above me. It does nothing to dull the ache of the silence that comes with feeling alone. If anything, it makes me feel more anxious and insecure. I find myself unable to sit still. I had found myself a hull in a long dead redwood tree that blocks me from the worst of the weather around me. In this hull, I divide my time between pacing, trying to lay down to rest, and getting up to pace once more. None of this does anything to calm my nerves.

Periodically, I cast my thoughts into the world around me, searching for the tell-tale signatures of others nearby. It is minimal comfort when monsters roam the shadows, and perhaps even a little disconcerting to find only emptiness out there.

With this last time, however, I touch on a hint of fear. I lift my head and look out into the shadows, not that it does much good. Fear isn’t unusual in the world we live in now. There was once a time, when the sunlight filtered through the tops of the trees, when I would be worried about any fear that I could sense, but it’s something I have grown accustomed to, now. Even still, the signature is unfamiliar–unfamiliar enough for me to shift my weight uncomfortably before stepping from the small shelter that brought about a small amount of comfort in this storm.

The wind rips right through me. Literally. I am nothing more than a ghost, now that I had failed the quest to save Beqanna. Despite my incorporeal nature, I can feel everything, every breath of air that violently tears through me, every ounce of cold that it brings with it. A shiver runs down my spine, and in response, I push forward, always mindful of that small signature of fear that lingers nearby.

It is easy to find the source of the fear. I no longer had to mind my steps through the forest, and I could pass straight through the trees. So I am able to make my way straight for him. I slip through the trees silently. It’s hard to make noise when you’re intangible. I hope that this doesn’t frighten the other anymore when I do finally appear from between the trees, my faint glow obvious against the dark background around me. “Hello,” I say softly as I draw closer. I’m not sure of what else to say, though, so I stop a few feet from him, waiting to gauge his reaction to my sudden appearance before I do or say anything else.

Image by Calcifer

@[lumos]