| JoycleWoope |
Дата: Четверг, 22.08.2013, 00:33 | Сообщение # 1 Offline |
| When his brothers and sisters gave up their sleepy, halfhearted complaints at his added company, he felt the sun on his skin and began to dream his life; swimming, basking, killing, avoiding death, the sun and moons, all mystery, all terrifying, all beautiful.Each day the same day, each year the same year.Until the root came, and the taste of sap.Some changes were slow, others came quickly, and he — they — flowed together, found the stream of time.His old body wasn't forgotten, but it changed, became more like things the root remembered from otherwhere; his hind legs lengthened and his spine stood up.
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Small thoughts in his head put out branches, and those branched also, until what had before been warmth, light, shadow, movement, fear, contentment, anger, and lust became categories instead of simple facts.The world was the same, but it seemed more, bigger, stranger than ever.Death followed life and life death, but it all flowed through the root, each life different, each the same.Until that, too, ended, and the root was ripped away, and he was alone.The gathering place was empty except for him — no elders, no siblings.
He swam in black water, forgetting everything.Losing his form, melting away.But in that dissolution, the illusion was also dissolved.He was many, and he was one.He sang, a plaintive tune, a remembrance, a prayer.
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All of his voices took it up, trembling it out through every branch and root, through heart and blood and bone.I want to go home, he sang.I want to go home.Glim woke gasping, spitting water from his mouth, remembering the ache closing in on his chest.He smelled his own terror, and remembered more — his heart stopping, the cold, nothingness.
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