Keeping the ‘pen’ busy…

A Matter of Perspective

Dwaine Ennis 1/11/16


My people are dying.

Before the now, long ago but still within memory, my people and I came to be.  We knew not of what had been before nor did we care about what came after. All that mattered…all that we were…was of the now.

We were a happy, industrious people, spreading in our numbers and structures across the empty vastness of the cold world. We struggled to grow and connect with those of like kind until all that we were and had built lay like an endless blanket upon the land. Together, we were strong. And so we waited and were content. Silence was our song and stillness was our dance. Peace was ours, it seemed, for an endless dark time.

But change must come to all things and my people were not exempt. The dark time passed and the land began to change beneath us. The land and all my people were bathed in new light and shone like stars. It was wondrous. This new time was frightening yet beautiful in its’ own way. We were amazed at the difference. Some of us, just a few at first, felt a change in the land. The first stirrings of a new feeling touched us. Not uncomfortable, this new feeling…but different, strange. My people remained still, awaiting the familiar coolness of an older time. But that hope faded as the new feeling spread across the land. And as the new feeling continued to increase my people began to fall, one by one. A few here and there then more and more until entire stretches of what was once covered by my people were laid bare.

My people…my cold, dark, beautiful world…was dying.

I wait now. And watch. I see the remains of all those I knew vanish into the empty space above what was once our land. Others flow into oblivion, their remains rushing like a river into an ending that I do not yet comprehend.

I wait. And watch. I see all that we were vanishing and yet I feel nothing. I am filled with the coldness that was the ultimate strength of my kind. Yet even now that strength wavers and fails me. The strange new feeling and light that has made my cold, dark world shine…and I see a place not meant for my people. A home that is ours no longer.

Look there. One of my people falls, lost to the inevitable change that grows stronger with each passing moment. Soon…all too soon, I know…I will join them all. Already I can feel myself lessening, fading…falling apart into nothing.

Remember us. Remember that we were beautiful in the cold and the dark. Beautiful in our complex simplicity, our symmetry…and now none shall never see or know again. We pass away…lost in the light…our land burns…




So far away that distance means nothing yet only an arm’s length away, someone waits patiently in the cold of a winter morning as the last vestige of frost vanishes from their windshield…




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