My mind wanders back to a serene winter night. In a land that is no more, yet exists in a thousand minds.
I was somewhere around five, with an elder as my guide. We went to pick up trash, from an overgrown yard. A fire burned in the middle: dancing in the wind, like the effervescent rhythm of a long-forgotten rhyme. We chattered, while collecting trash; dropping each into the pit. I gazed, mesmerized, at how things transformed in heat. A sandal half torn, clinging barely to its sole; I wondered of each forsaken: what stories did it withhold?
We overturned the burning sandal, and a secret was revealed. Beneath it clung a spiral: the shell of a being. We had hoped it long abandoned. Alas, we were deceived. The shell spiraled backwards, pushing out the occupant within. It had four protruding eyes; how innocent they seemed! Its skin gleamed like marble, against the light of the flame. Alas, I couldn't save it; it boiled before my eyes. My breathing drew thin, for every soul felt like kin.
The stars twinkled careless, scattered across the sky. The cold blew at the edges, lingering outside the warmth. A field overrun by foliage, hiding long-neglected remains. We burnt away the traces, killing stories unheard.
