The Book of Life - June 4, 2011

THE BOOK OF LIFE



He ran through the remains of the old ones. He breathed in the aroma of centuries past as he sprinted through the broken concrete cages of his father’s ancestors. The roads appeared diseased to him with its various black boils and scars leading to tunnels of filth and stench. This world wasn’t his, he was but a visitor and he had to leave sooner than he would have liked. He ran once again on the diseased roads and through the broken concrete cages and breathed in the aroma of centuries past and took one last look at the remains of the old ones wondering why the old ones would build a city where there was no life source to be found, flowing or fixed, life source being so scarce and short lived in its existence. Already the well had lost life and the caravan had been stopped for only thirty four rotations He arrived at the caravan to find no evidence of the life source they had stored save the tracks of the wagon in the sand. All around was the doing of death, unusable red life source drenched the sand and wood and fabric over the wagons and all the bodies of the Elders and fellow life holders had let their life escape into the sand as the corrupted life holders made off with their only hope of holding onto their life.
    Then something happened, something he had never before witnessed. The sky began to cry for him. It cried for his loss. It cried and cleansed the sand and the wood and the fabric over the tarps of the useless red life source. He smiled and rejoiced in the provider’s kindness. He got on his knees and told the provider of the provider’s infinite kindness and when he got up he approached a large bowl and saw that it was storing the tears, he drank from the tears and tasted the tears of the provider. It tasted of life source and again he rejoiced as he searched for more containers. He drank what he needed and saved the rest. As he lay in his wagon he fell into the non-waking realm he had a smile upon his life source drenched face.

-Kris Meters