Chasing Visions of Our Futures
One day we'll reveal the truth That one will die before he gets there And if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones 'Cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone We're setting fire to our insides for fun Collecting pictures from the flood that wrecked our home It was a flood that wrecked this
Deep within the heart of the Vale there resided a city long forgotten by the outside world. Its people, buildings and even its imposing temple were lost and drowned in the ages as the world grew around it and kings and queens came and went in the lands beyond.
The buildings crumbled with time but their silhouettes – their ethereal forms – remained intact same as the people who had lived and, sadly, died there. They became the stuff of myth no longer even fortunate enough to be recorded in the history books for future generations of youngsters to study.
Many of the people in this community were simple – farmers tilling their tiny clearings on the outskirts of the city, bakers concocting new recipes and smelling of yeast, blacksmiths forging shoes for horses that were no longer living and presented merely as wisps much like their owners.
For thousands of years, the people of this village preformed their tasks knowing no more and accepting what they had as all there was - they did not realize they were dead. The elders kept it this way – this way was best as it kept a panic at bay and the people docile.
Over time, some of the residents awoke to their state of decay and the monotony of their lives. It could not be said what caused this abrupt stirring but when realization hit, it was difficult for some to accept and typically the elders frowned heavily upon the stirrings and rousings of the common people. Some had even abruptly disappeared without a trace after reaching this awakened state.
For those fortunate enough to be left in peace by the elders, the monotony of the days made life incredibly tedious after so many years.
Straying toward the tree line was accepted but venturing beyond it was frowned upon and daring outside of the Vale itself was strictly forbidden and people within the village were told there was a border patrol ceaselessly guarding. What would happen should one get caught? A death sentence?
Gwynfor laughed as he considered such a thing from where he sat within a tree. The summer breeze was warm and though it rustled the leaves around him, it did little to his clothes or hair. Instead, it seemed to pass through him completely.
Being the son of an Elder, when he “awoke” he was spared the same fate that befell on some of the others… what had been their fates anyway, he pondered. Nobody knew. One day the baker’s son simply was not there. It was said he strayed outside of the Vale. It was said he must be punished. He was made an example of but how believable was that really? The lad had been mentally disabled and could barely speak and never strayed outside of their home. Why and how would he consciously venture through the Vale and out of it? It was ridiculous.
And he was just the most recent incident. There had been others.
Gwynfor considered this as he remained perched on his branch and lazily kicked a leg. Of course he could have floated up here. He likely could have even appeared here by will. What would be the fun in that, however? He enjoyed climbing the trees around the perimeter to break up the monotony of the life in the city. After all, Liwsi did much more than simply push her luck and she was only eleven when murdered.
That’s what it was, wasn’t it?
The god they now served had murdered them. Or commanded the elders to murder them, perhaps? The details were still hazy and he couldn’t be sure of them. He knew that the elders knew the truth, however. They knew what they were guilty of… his father knew what he had done.
“Gwynfor!” Liwsi yelled up toward him and startled him to the point of where he wobbled and had to steady himself with his legs about the branch.
To one another, they had a corporeal presence. He saw her as clearly as he had seen her the morning before she had been taken at such a youthful age. What might her future have been had she not been plucked away as a child?
“Gwyn!” She called again and this time she was tapping one tiny foot into the lush grass and her hands were on her hips as she waited expectantly, “What in the name of Ve,” that was the god who kept them all here to protect and nurture his temple, “are you doing up in a tree?”
She had woke before him and she had been fundamental in stirring him up and causing him to become conscious to his own state. He owed her though perhaps some days he longed for the ignorant state he had escaped from.
He was working on climbing back down and finally bounced to the ground beside his sister. He was taller than her as she only came up to his chest. She had been – was – a tall girl for her age but he was a grown adult. Before everything had happened, he had been pledged to a girl living on the outside. Of course, that never came to fruition as the girl couldn’t marry a corpse, now could she?
He had looked for their bodies. He had thought they must be hidden about somewhere in the forests. He had no luck in the woods, however, and had considered that perhaps they were tucked away in the catacombs of the temple. That had seemed the most likely option, truthfully. Nobody but the elders tread below the worshipping areas. Nobody knew what was down there.
“I wished to see how magnificent the view of the temple is from higher up.” He lied and she even rolled her eyes as her lips quirked up. She knew that was a lie spoken for the benefit of whoever happened to be near enough to hear.
“Papa wants you.” She took up his hand and pulled him back past the pastures and into the city.
The pastures were tiny and housed iridescent livestock that would likely not even appear to a stranger. The grasses were overgrown with strange flowers that reached toward the sky above. The sky was an eerie blue and as Gwynfor looked up, he wondered what might be beyond. If he could climb far enough and look over the canopy of the trees, what might he see? Was there really nothing out there as they were told?
There was an echo of a moo from a cow that caught in the wind along with Liwsi’s giggles. The Vale devoured such sounds.
As they were moving, she was plucking up tissuepaper-delicated orange and red poppies which waved along with the breeze. Their fragrance filled the air and she concentrated on braiding them into a crown which she put upon her head and danced about with more giggles. He couldn’t help but smile along with her.
They entered the city and a washerwoman smiled kindly toward them and nodded in respect as they were the children of an Elder. How long had she been washing clothes? There was always something strung up on her lines and she never spoke ill of it or tired. She was always working while flickering in and out with the sunlight. Her children would run about her ankles chasing after each other and laughing – never aging, never changing.
He glanced over his shoulder to watch her as they continued on through the rubble which, to them, shined as bright and strong buildings that housed their neighbors and friends.
Their home was located toward the base of the temple – the greatest honor - and always cowered in its shadow. To travelers, all that remained was a crumbling rock wall and the rotting, moist boards of a roof that caved in long ago. While the temple remained solid, the city was a pile of rubble. To the people, however, it was as if nothing had changed. Their home looked as though it had just been constructed and the red damask curtains at Liwsi’s window caught lightly with the breeze as they took a few steps up and entered the building.