The Everlasting Night
Note: I dug up this one on a whim. Turned out that I had one more drabble to write, during these last, shivering hours of the year. It's unbetad, as the parts before it. If you want to read those- which probably helps this make sense- just follow the tunnel-tag.
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Sometimes I can hear the stone sing. There is a faint tone vibrating through the rock, I can't believe it took me so long to hear it. Days, months, eons. I don't know what it is, maybe the last, lingering heartbeats of all of us who are still here. I don't think we ever go away, we meld, we blend, we grow into the stone. Making it our last home.
There have been others. I think so at least. I've heard them. I thought I could see them but I'm not sure about that. The shadows moving could very well have been my eyes fooling me, bleeding, making patterns. Once I felt something. That one I knew was real. It must have been a man, the groan of fear -I knew it was fear because I remember myself sounding like that- was too deep to be a woman. But it has been quiet since. That's why I can hear the rock sing now.
Once I visited the ocean, there I heard the whales sing. Big, magnificent animals; breaking the surface with barely a splash. They sang to me then. I stood on the boat deck, I was afraid because I had never seen so much water, never known that there could be so much water. But when they surfaced, swam alongside us, and sang- I have never felt such peace. I understood the mysteries hiding beneath them. Understood why it was better under. Only the hand of a seaman stopped me from jumping over the railing. They screamed at me after that. Put me back in the cabin until we reached land again. But I still carry that song with me.
I'm trying to sing it to the ones coming after me here. Maybe it can bring them some peace, ease their fear. Because of that song, I said I would dig. I don't have to tell the ones coming that even the whales lied. It's not better here, under. But what does it hurt if I lie, now?
The one that stumbled on me, I tried to sing to him, to touch him, to let him know he wasn't alone. I could hear him move, falling, crawling, trying to get away as fast as possible. I bet he was lost too. That he had lost his fingers, couldn't read anymore. I know what that feels like. I wonder if his eyes were bleeding, making shadows of things he didn't want to see. Or begged to see but couldn't.
I thought that nothing would matter anymore, not since I gave my name to the darkness. I know it's still there, no one has stopped to take it, to remember it. I didn't either, when I found names floating in the air, over the soft, whimpering piles of those before me. I understand that no one has taken it yet. The burden, the memories, would be too heavy to carry. Would thwart what little chance there is to ever get out. Only we who stay, should take the names with us. We who don't have to carry them far.
They are pretty, the sounds coming from the stone. They make me feel less lonely. I've been waiting so long now, for someone to come to me. I'm so hungry. Thirsty. Not that I need anything anymore, shadows don't need anything.
I moved, tried to. Tried to follow the sounds of pitiful whines, of sobs and cries. But I was too slow, cold lizard slow. With no hands left, and my legs melting into the stone, he ran from me. I still wonder how he could. Maybe he is one of those who got out. If I listen carefully enough, maybe I'll hear him cry. Because he will cry, they will cry. The things they have seen down here, the things they have done, those would make even Lucifer cry. I have stopped crying, but you know this already. All I am now, is a shadow on the floor, a shadow hidden in the dark. There is no reason for me to cry anymore.
But rest assured that I am here. In the stone, the floor and the walls. All around you. When you come down here, when your eyes don't see anymore, when your fingers don't feel anymore, I'm the one guiding you. I'll be waiting for you, singing for you, making sure that you'll stay here with me. In the cold, in the dark.
¤¤¤¤¤
Sometimes I can hear the stone sing. There is a faint tone vibrating through the rock, I can't believe it took me so long to hear it. Days, months, eons. I don't know what it is, maybe the last, lingering heartbeats of all of us who are still here. I don't think we ever go away, we meld, we blend, we grow into the stone. Making it our last home.
There have been others. I think so at least. I've heard them. I thought I could see them but I'm not sure about that. The shadows moving could very well have been my eyes fooling me, bleeding, making patterns. Once I felt something. That one I knew was real. It must have been a man, the groan of fear -I knew it was fear because I remember myself sounding like that- was too deep to be a woman. But it has been quiet since. That's why I can hear the rock sing now.
Once I visited the ocean, there I heard the whales sing. Big, magnificent animals; breaking the surface with barely a splash. They sang to me then. I stood on the boat deck, I was afraid because I had never seen so much water, never known that there could be so much water. But when they surfaced, swam alongside us, and sang- I have never felt such peace. I understood the mysteries hiding beneath them. Understood why it was better under. Only the hand of a seaman stopped me from jumping over the railing. They screamed at me after that. Put me back in the cabin until we reached land again. But I still carry that song with me.
I'm trying to sing it to the ones coming after me here. Maybe it can bring them some peace, ease their fear. Because of that song, I said I would dig. I don't have to tell the ones coming that even the whales lied. It's not better here, under. But what does it hurt if I lie, now?
The one that stumbled on me, I tried to sing to him, to touch him, to let him know he wasn't alone. I could hear him move, falling, crawling, trying to get away as fast as possible. I bet he was lost too. That he had lost his fingers, couldn't read anymore. I know what that feels like. I wonder if his eyes were bleeding, making shadows of things he didn't want to see. Or begged to see but couldn't.
I thought that nothing would matter anymore, not since I gave my name to the darkness. I know it's still there, no one has stopped to take it, to remember it. I didn't either, when I found names floating in the air, over the soft, whimpering piles of those before me. I understand that no one has taken it yet. The burden, the memories, would be too heavy to carry. Would thwart what little chance there is to ever get out. Only we who stay, should take the names with us. We who don't have to carry them far.
They are pretty, the sounds coming from the stone. They make me feel less lonely. I've been waiting so long now, for someone to come to me. I'm so hungry. Thirsty. Not that I need anything anymore, shadows don't need anything.
I moved, tried to. Tried to follow the sounds of pitiful whines, of sobs and cries. But I was too slow, cold lizard slow. With no hands left, and my legs melting into the stone, he ran from me. I still wonder how he could. Maybe he is one of those who got out. If I listen carefully enough, maybe I'll hear him cry. Because he will cry, they will cry. The things they have seen down here, the things they have done, those would make even Lucifer cry. I have stopped crying, but you know this already. All I am now, is a shadow on the floor, a shadow hidden in the dark. There is no reason for me to cry anymore.
But rest assured that I am here. In the stone, the floor and the walls. All around you. When you come down here, when your eyes don't see anymore, when your fingers don't feel anymore, I'm the one guiding you. I'll be waiting for you, singing for you, making sure that you'll stay here with me. In the cold, in the dark.