mist.
"Eli? Please. Talk to me."
"I'm losing her. She's fading, and you're crying. Keet, we're both there with her, but we can't move. There's something holding us back. Don't go. It's quiet now. She's gone. It's all gone. I can't remember." Once again. I never remember and I relive the same pain over and over. I burst into tears. I can barely make out Keet's soothing words on the comm.
"It's just a bad dream, Eli. That's all. I know it feels real, but it's not. We'll figure this out together. I promise…"
"Ok." That's all I can muster up between sobs.
It's just so frustrating that I can't recall enough so I can just let it go. I even lose part of my days sometimes, especially when the voices drift in. All I am left with are feelings. Awful feelings. Maybe if I wrote things down like Keet I could piece it all together. Like that woman, there was something dreamy about her is what he said, or did he? Wait. A dream. My dream!
"I'm ok. I have to go. Let's meet after reg. Around threeish."
"Be careful."
Now where's that journal? No one will know if I read it.
K eeto
Day 3: Early Evening
I t has been just over a day since we arrived, toting with us little more than the weight of our own torments while the bulk of our treasured effects traveled separately with the itinerant merchants from the strongholds. The information we had gleaned beforehand, or rather paid for handsomely, has proven its value a thousandfold, and the expediency with which they had successfully smuggled the articles we had spent months choosing and collecting honors their craft. If Father had suspected an alliance forging between the fringe element of the Unification and his maniacally monitored children, I imagine he would have removed what little freedoms we had sporadically enjoyed. Although lawless according to the tenets of the ever constricting societal norm, I have found the Gadlins to be more respectable than most, at least in the matters of propriety and loyalty. Once they pledge to complete a task, they do so with speed and proficiency, a quality worthy of consideration for future use.
As I reflect upon today's events, I am writing from the comfort of a virtachair in Eli's dorm, at the northeast corner of the complex. Between occasional interruptions from her prying eyes and more than occasional eruptions from my ailing intestines, I am feeling slightly more challenged than usual as I attempt to focus my thoughts on our second series of new experiences. The one that immediately presents itself is of course the much anticipated yet disappointingly horrid smoked flyer we had for midi. It came with root fingers and sweet jam that tasted more like rot fingers and toe jam. The main itself probably hadn't flown for weeks which might explain why it was attempting to do so in my stomach. Nevertheless, I find it amusing to watch Eli snare in my general direction every time she catches a whiff of the unfortunate fowl, as she unloads her share of the past from her keepsakes.
Her conversation grows suddenly sparse when she reaches the items she selected from the hidden sliderpad vault. I can hear the heartbreak imprinted in your crystal hair tresses as she fondles them gently between her trembling fingers, releasing their delicate melody. A single tear is all it seems to take for her to saturate the silk band you used to wear around your neck, with its dangling constellations suggesting an obscure fascination with otherworldly superstitions. Although I am the one who inherited your love of legends and mystical beings, it is curious that Eli shares a special fondness for this side of you, a side which she has denied any access to her waking mind. Logic is the only path she has chosen to follow, which I do believe leaves her broken and confused. I feel the conflict within her and the undercurrent of fear which plays out every night in her dreams. And now, released within the confines of an oppressed society, she clings to a reality which no longer
"Eli? Please. Talk to me."
"I'm losing her. She's fading, and you're crying. Keet, we're both there with her, but we can't move. There's something holding us back. Don't go. It's quiet now. She's gone. It's all gone. I can't remember." Once again. I never remember and I relive the same pain over and over. I burst into tears. I can barely make out Keet's soothing words on the comm.
"It's just a bad dream, Eli. That's all. I know it feels real, but it's not. We'll figure this out together. I promise…"
"Ok." That's all I can muster up between sobs.
It's just so frustrating that I can't recall enough so I can just let it go. I even lose part of my days sometimes, especially when the voices drift in. All I am left with are feelings. Awful feelings. Maybe if I wrote things down like Keet I could piece it all together. Like that woman, there was something dreamy about her is what he said, or did he? Wait. A dream. My dream!
"I'm ok. I have to go. Let's meet after reg. Around threeish."
"Be careful."
Now where's that journal? No one will know if I read it.
K eeto
Day 3: Early Evening
I t has been just over a day since we arrived, toting with us little more than the weight of our own torments while the bulk of our treasured effects traveled separately with the itinerant merchants from the strongholds. The information we had gleaned beforehand, or rather paid for handsomely, has proven its value a thousandfold, and the expediency with which they had successfully smuggled the articles we had spent months choosing and collecting honors their craft. If Father had suspected an alliance forging between the fringe element of the Unification and his maniacally monitored children, I imagine he would have removed what little freedoms we had sporadically enjoyed. Although lawless according to the tenets of the ever constricting societal norm, I have found the Gadlins to be more respectable than most, at least in the matters of propriety and loyalty. Once they pledge to complete a task, they do so with speed and proficiency, a quality worthy of consideration for future use.
As I reflect upon today's events, I am writing from the comfort of a virtachair in Eli's dorm, at the northeast corner of the complex. Between occasional interruptions from her prying eyes and more than occasional eruptions from my ailing intestines, I am feeling slightly more challenged than usual as I attempt to focus my thoughts on our second series of new experiences. The one that immediately presents itself is of course the much anticipated yet disappointingly horrid smoked flyer we had for midi. It came with root fingers and sweet jam that tasted more like rot fingers and toe jam. The main itself probably hadn't flown for weeks which might explain why it was attempting to do so in my stomach. Nevertheless, I find it amusing to watch Eli snare in my general direction every time she catches a whiff of the unfortunate fowl, as she unloads her share of the past from her keepsakes.
Her conversation grows suddenly sparse when she reaches the items she selected from the hidden sliderpad vault. I can hear the heartbreak imprinted in your crystal hair tresses as she fondles them gently between her trembling fingers, releasing their delicate melody. A single tear is all it seems to take for her to saturate the silk band you used to wear around your neck, with its dangling constellations suggesting an obscure fascination with otherworldly superstitions. Although I am the one who inherited your love of legends and mystical beings, it is curious that Eli shares a special fondness for this side of you, a side which she has denied any access to her waking mind. Logic is the only path she has chosen to follow, which I do believe leaves her broken and confused. I feel the conflict within her and the undercurrent of fear which plays out every night in her dreams. And now, released within the confines of an oppressed society, she clings to a reality which no longer
Similar Books
