They always said the sky was the safest place for our future. The earth rejected us. Retribution for what we had done. Now, only the sky welcomes us as home. That’s what they say.
I asked why the earth shuns us, why does it shudder at our touch. Too young was I then to ever have a memory of when the sky was not my home, yet, how I yearn for the world beneath the clouds. What unknown marvels must be there – things I have never known nor felt.
They remember. I can see it etched upon their faces. The memory makes the nights unquiet. Their everyday cheer is blackened by what ever happened, down there, on the world. Rejection. They are scorned by a long lost lover taken for granted too often and celebrated too late.
Here we are, children of the sky, with nothing but air separating us from a turbulent earth. The world moves. Does it writhe, desperate for the touch of a new generation? Or, does it convulse in vengeful wrath.
They said the sky was home, that the earth rejected us.
“Why?” I asked again, louder this time. Thom was fiddling with his stitching, absorbed in some fanciful attempt at creation. His mummified fingers moved too fast for his own good. He was lucky to still have his fingers.
Created: Dec 04, 2010vagus Document Media