Mirthless Jubilance

MIRTHLESS JUBILANCE







"Devastating, utterly devastating."

"That is the point."

"I know, I just thought a bit of sarcasm would lighten things up. Not that things aren't going the way they should be, everything is running smoothly."

"And yet the oracle disagrees."

"Stop trusting the oracle that way! Forget about her, she poses no threat whatsoever. All she does is eat, work, sleep, what a consectutive thing to do for a hero."

"Or a villain depending on how you take it."

"Villain, hero... There is no path to decide."

"But listen, aren't we better safe than sorry?"

"In this case we would go through more trouble following the wrong trail than leaving it alone."

"Look, we have to cooperate to the best of our ability, this wouldn't be achieved without team work."

"You're starting to sound like the school teachers we use to employ. Back when everything was 'normal', remember?"

"How confusing it must have seem to everyone when he changed so rapidly."

"Exactly. You see, everything has a purpose. Why we hide so much, why we invade others' lives, why we do the things we do and why we don't trust the oracle."

"I knew you were going to get to that."

"Give the kid a chance!"

"Like you care... anyway you will owe me once the oracle is right."

"Whatever you say."


The ivory pasture encompassed the languishing ground with sorrow, anticipation and denial. The bittersweet wind fiercely scraped the verdure, sweeping it blindly out of its gaze. It seemed unaware of its doings as it showed no sign of pity but perhaps it was too ruthless to care. The breeze's violence towards the inhabitants of its territory was odious and disgraceful but the matter didn't preoccupy it. Bits and pieces were flying vigorously out of control along with an in scent of terror and betrayal, almost as if the elements were unleashing their power and not a soul was expecting it. Tragedy struck among the land and the mistral certainly wasn't against the rebellion. It did so everyday. The infinite battles the rough whirlwind was inflicting, the dilemma to either stand alone in the glacial brisk or stay safe and warm but be caught in its web of sorcery. The devious clouds resembling the highly feared cumulonimbus were shaped like platforms of flat pastry, soft and glossy on the outside but dark and bloodthirsty within. Don't judge a book by its cover. The puffy terraces were releasing liquified precipitation, rain. It had been soaked up for over a week and now it was let go of. We sometimes are needing of water during the dry seasons. People with weak immune systems pass away because of the fact that our reserve has diminished and we are no longer able to drink at ease. Streams of sanguinary water run swiftly down the ill-tempered gravel pavings. It intercepted the mayhem in between the terrain and the vault of above. If it is true, that life has no purpose, that it is useless, than why force us to stay alive for eternity. 'If', 'why' these words have a hidden meaning, a few syllables bunched together can create a world of problems. They signify horrendous approaches to the metaphorical sun, the base of our generation. Its beams gloom willingly above the tempered Earth. Sorrow flies towards it, the bribery becoming its trap. How gullible it is, believing that what is drawn to it will disappear out of the blue. Regrettably, the azure sky doesn't absorb it's painful anguish now linked to the heavens above. It is stuck to linger in helpless outcomes, oblivious to our misery and spreads terror across the firmament of Geo. These prisoners are unaware that change could occur at any obscure moment. They are behind eternal bars of concealment, far from being able to redeem themselves. Stuck to become slaves and worship the most unimaginable sources of life. They don't realise that so much was changed in such a short period of time. Priest Nómos such a despicable man had once been gratefully in the people's point of view, in power; he strived for excellence to be shadowed past our enjoyable souls. Nature was taken under our advantage, life was bearable. The beautiful canopy was the pond the pond of our happiness and bewitchment. Its cathartic rivers flowed evenly and strained down the reluctant hills. The jolly spirits roaming the giants of the forest were impenetrable. They would whisper long-lost lullabies, merrily reminiscing upon them along with their deepest understandings. Ricocheting was their souls, filled with mixed emotions but they would never be pushed to mourning or tremor. The mood didn't decrescendo gradually, it violently diminished in a single day. The meeting was called and there was no protesting. No father to take care of the issue. They may have been every living person on Earth reunited but it felt like every single person was alone. No arguing was implied whatsoever. They had plans. 'They' being Priest Nómos and his sentries, guards. They had all vowed (under the Priest's influence) never to rebel against the lord in power for as long as he reigned, that is, his life. It was a pact with their moral on the line, breaking it would mean eviction. So much happened after. We all know what the abominable act was and why they did it. And yet, no one mentions it. They blindfolded everyone they could fit in a large vehicle (I assumed they had many more than one but am not certain how many) and transported us somewhere eerier than I have visited in my short enjoyment of a proper life, Ruina. We traveled for what seemed like an eternity but it was probably a few years. We had a cabin per family and a insubstantial amount of water and leftovers of bread that had been gnawed on by mice. People aged rather slowly which surprised the mere question out of all the inhabitants of the mysterious vehicle. There was no view of the outside, no one knew where they were going except the pilots. We were given orders of chores to do each day. The instructions were on pieces of paper. Someone would be walking through the corridors and find the next day's orders. Nobody knew and to this day still know how a pilots could possibly be enough to drive what like such a huge car or perhaps plane and lay the messages without anyone noticing them. 
When we arrived we were blindfolded again walking towards our new establishment. As soon as we entered Ruina criaturas were everywhere attaching themselves to everyone. We were all so confused. Staying in this strange town we realised that we had slowed ageing even more, to the point where it would take six years to acquire one year of age. Our timing was deranged. Some people used the old clocks and just thought to live longer and some used the new times, one for every six years. We all want to die now, nothing is bearable. How could something be turned so dramatically. We only had acknowledged one of the steps but it is such a somber and abhorrent one it hurts us to mention it. Because just as they brought us inside that large train, the bombs went off.


The work we endure is devilishly complex. We strain however much we can obtain without falling short but always having it weighing heavily on our minds. Luscious temptations of having a rest fly negatively passed our minds. These thoughts have to be contained or risk costing us dearly.the dilemma of decision to lie down is so strong and turbulent that we shall do everything in our power to control it; to ease it down. However difficult this task may be, we must brush it swiftly away and never allow it to drift back again. The tempers of the strong-headed workers were rising along with their patience. Although these tasks are the simplest of our jobs it isn't easy enough for it to be bearable. A familiar bell rings in the distance.

"Tasks! Come on quick! Hurry! We don't have all day!" the main speaker beckons unwarily.

All the kitchen workers approach the centre stage, carefully silencing themselves. Not that they would talk to anyone around them. The only soul they would mutter to are there criaturas, forced to work with them. In many villagers' head s they are trapped, attached to their criatura but in one of the animal's point of view that isn't half true.
We know where we come from, they don't. Criaturas were created as imprisoning creatures but they feel casted by the feeling of being kept away themselves.I've discussed the issue many times with Arnou. He is intensely rebellious. His soft and luscious pitch black fur sways carelessly below his fit body in a way that argues against me without uttering a single word. He glances profoundly to prove his opinion right and worthy of its title of a wolf. He has courage in his heart, he is a never ending believer who will fight for our right. That is both his greatest attribute and his worst quality. He will go to the end for others but never for himself. The problem is we're linked. Whatever he does will affect me which is why he must feel somewhat guilty. He probably would have freed us all is he wasn't restricted. I would let him interfere, I am not a narcissist to the point of not letting him try to save us, I am just afraid for him.

"Hurry, you immature nitwits!"

The speaker shouts a series of long insults. Priest Nómos behind it. 
He controls the city in a despicable manner. Speakers are put all through the town and in everyone's houses so that any direct announcement. They haven't been needed much. Only on celebrations and other rituals they are casted for all Ruina's inhabitants. All the speaker are drawn directly to the palace, the wicked man's residence. The palace is an eerie, huge mansion, built by the builders assigned to the job. Rumours are only Priest Nómos lives there, no one else. Such an overly large home for a single man. An inner craving summons everyone who passes nearby the huge house. As much as we may relish we never want to picture entering the fort. Not for the wrong reasons at least.

"Ok everyone! Today this task is not easy, so move it!"

The workers huddled in trying not to appeal to the fearful possibility of not acquiring a sufficient result. Accumulating the courage in their souls, they push away the carrying feelings of a non triumphing finish. Everyday our journeys are possibly on their ways to achieving their ends. We are all aware of it. That awareness is highly discouraged by the most positive of our kind. On the other hand, all the palace's anonymous staff (and more specifically Priest Nómos) don't do anything of the sort and enjoy teasing us about whatever comes to mind.

"Come on! You weren't aced here to goof around!" The speaker screams at a couple of elders making their ways as fast as possible, although that is hardly a quarter of some of the younger workers' pace. 

One fact that makes us all jump uneasily is the fact that the voice whom the microphone belongs to mentioned us being 'placed'. We definitely weren't recruited or chosen. All we did was take part in one forcefully treacherous night. Initiation night. Not that we had a choice whether or not to participate. I can hear a few people muttering what I am ungratefully thinking. This was all in chance. Relatively good chance on our behalf actually. We could have had a worst fate, pick a worst job out of that scary, leather bag.
I feel confronted with a dilemma. 
I want to feel joyful that my luck has been set like this but I am feeling guilty and anguished. The worst part is that I know why. The dawn was barely mounting the eager cliffs. The morning due had frozen above all living plants as a repetitive outcome. I could distinguish the smell of fresh thyme and lavender invading the air. They had been set up miraculously and delicately to suit the once-in-a-lifetime occasion. We don't know how 'they' brought them here but we were glad to have beautiful garden gems to enlighten the marvellous and yet dreadful day ahead. The stage was smooth and shiny, reflecting all the frightful faces of the young children taking part in such a ritual. I hated it, we all did. One after the other, the children would have their turn, take part in a moment that would change their lives and they couldn't escape. Many of them were crying tears of hope for forgiveness, they weren't addressed back. They could weep for days, no one would cancel the event. Priest Nómos is cruel. More than cruel, heartless. He is a soul without a spirit, a monster without a mind, an instrument with no sound, a painting with no artist. A part of him is missing. Like a puzzle. Half of it has been lost amongst different puzzles, it would take a miracle to reconstitute the tableau. It was my turn to face my fate. I had no choice. It was do or die and that wasn't a metaphor. After tedious preparations which were no doubt unnecessary, I was summoned and ready to go. Or at least I was forced into going. The rest happened in a flash, an unwilling flash. This particular flash lasted a few days, only, to me it felt like just a couple of seconds. The mood was tense. The wind would blow bizarrely, in a way which represented both melancholy and anticipation. A tidal wave of flames. Burning up inside each and everyone of us. Mostly father. Although he was the one to show it the least.

"Echo!" I hear Dwell whispering loudly in the distance. She signals for me to come over, "I've got news." She mouths the words.

I hurry over to this pleasant silhouette. Dwell. Like many notice, she suits her name.

"Hey Dwell." I act casual, drawing away my earlier uneasy thoughts.

"I brought Harriet along too." I realise a little lion cub is sitting at her feet. Roaring loudly, Dwell tries to silence her.

"Hey Harry!" I wave at the miniature criatura, soon to be tall and proud.

"Harriet and I were passing along the market place this morning, Stanley's sick." She seems a little saddened, "Must have gotten a cold or something of the sort. Quite peculiar, he's usually immune to those kind of things."

"Yeah I guess." As much as I tried to remain neutral I was caught up in my self-orientated soliloquy about dad. A mental soliloquy.
"Are you alright? You seem a bit pale, how's Arnou? Is he driving you mad?"

"Arnou's fine, he may be very determine to challenge me in every way he can but he's caring inside. He knows what hurts me and what doesn't, he just slowly pulls down on things that don't injure me until I change my mind on their pain. Then once I'm extremely hurt on one thing, he pulls on the next. Just a monotonous, repetitive routine, nothing much." I reply.

"What do you think we'll have to do today?" Dwell interrupts slightly, changing the subject discussed, "It's been getting harder and harder lately. I remember in our first few years all we had to do was boil broth," she giggles, "remember how simple it was?" We used to cook that every day until we reached perfection. Now they get us to do things so much harder, it's enraging."

"I thought the concept of time and age had disappeared long ago," I continue, "instead it's what everyone bases things on, when, where, what and why. Everything has to do with the amount of years for which we have lived." Dwell and I take painful pleasure complaining about our situation. We always have.

"The years have gone past so quickly, I still look like a 14 year old but in fact I feel like I have decades of experience. I haven't even counted how many years it has been since we first arrived. It feels like so long ago, ey, Echo?"

"Yeah..." I pause to silence myself but can't help but repeating the word, "yeah..."

"Crazy. Pure old insane. A cage of freedom kept restricted. A paradox. It doesn't make sense that our pride is our glory but our glory is none, our lives are endless. You would think we could achieve anything thanks to such a gift. Gift," she grumbles, " more like a curse, we can't do anything. Is it a crime to be speechless with envy, is it a life to live upon or a mere expression not to be continued? Does it have a pond to swim in or does it escape the humanly sea?"

"A life it isn't but a death it is, a pleasuring death of acknowledgment for reality. It brings crystal tears of pain that free anguish." I reply truthfully.

"But is this a death you bring yourself to, or do others lead you there? What are the consequences for being ricocheted in that ocean of mirthless jubilance."

"Jubilance is mirthless. Emptying it will amount to nothing."

"Nothing is something." Dwell replies thoughtfully.

"Another paradox, this time circular. It depends on whether you believe something is something, or is it just nothing?"

"Do you think something is nothing?" All her innocence is centred into that one powerful sentence.

I don't know how to reply. Speechless with notice, notice for the adorable blindness Dwell has towards such a complex subject. Did I really think for an instant, anyone would believe in the things I knew were true. For my part at least. I can't bring myself to telling her. Not a single thing in this universe is worth fighting for, sooner or later it will all collapse. Why try and chase those dreams if we know the result. It can only cause us more grief, grief for fairness. Nothing is fair. Not even unfairness. I have decided from experience, to do the wise thing; that is, to be used to the underdog life, because it doesn't get better. You can aim higher, perhaps get there even, but you will fall back down lower than you started. Dwell's petite freckled frame is just a devious stereotype. Her luscious hazelnut brown hair accompany her dandelion eyes, pure and easy going. Her robes are too long for her, hence the confusion people have as they see her, a beautiful, rather small, teenager with clothing that make her seem even smaller. As skinny as toothpick, she is. Modest and fair, she seeks people's attention without realising it. But that is one of her best qualities. Attention seeking is often confused as a sin. Everything in this world is often confused as a sin. If only people understood that attention seeking is just for people to ignore their pain, people do it to even perhaps be proud of their pain. Some people even want pride in pain they don't have, they feel guilty about not having any, that is why they create their pain. That makes them feel better. That used to make me feel better. But now I have pain and I inflict it on however comes to know me, like a disease. A manageable disease. A disease that has made me not want to know anybody anymore, by fear I will kill people around me. Fear is my pride and is what I have grown to worship.

"All right!" The daunting voice continues, "I'm sure you're all aware that tomorrow is Priest Nómos's 64th Anniversary, that signifies 64 years y'all have been here and he has been ruling you in Ruina!" 

Ruina- Prison. Thanks for the reminder.

"So, you cooked-up ducks will bake a mini cake each, 64 of them we want and since you're about over 100, the rest of y'all can bake cakes for the staff and I, we'll select the best looking for Priest Nómos and the tastiest will come back to me! Now move ya trumpet heads!"

Dwell and I always stick together when we need to cook. We can trust each other. We met here, when we were both randomly selected to do kitchen work. That's also when we met Stanley, who's sick by the looks of it.

"Ey Echo, what should we do? I mean what flavour?" Asks Dwell.

"Does it really matter? It's for Priest Nómos after all."

"Come on, for once we actually get to cook something fun and get the chance to decorate and present our work let's make this an epic opportunity."

"Ok, I guess, mint and chocolate?"

"Pumpkin and lavender?"

"Sweet?"

"Sour?"

We glare at each other in blissful awe. I grin, she grins back. It feels good to have a friend like Dwell. Courageous, loyal and I am at ease to return the favour. I love it. Something I love out of the many, many things I hate.
We walk towards the wide tables with dozens of bags of flour, sugar. Grand jugs of skim milk are laid out with smaller cups next to them, to transport the liquid to people's working tables. All of the bags and jugs had been organised neatly to ensure we understand they don't want a huge mess.

"Priest Nómos is really going to end up as fat as a well-fed pig by the end of this!" Dwell rebelliously whispers.

I laugh, that's very true.

"Haha, rounder than that!" I answer mockingly still very quietly.

One or two people surrounding us hear us and snicker giving us an agreeing look. We all know that Priest Nómos is very likely going to use the cakes for another purpose but we like to joke about these sorts of things. Humour helps our morale stay up rather than down. I grab three cups of flour, two cups of sugar, milk and a cup of Esthern. Esthern has been around ever since we arrived here, where ever 'here' is. It gives whatever we eat edible to criaturas. Otherwise they wouldn't digest anything we eat and we would constantly has animals murdering each other for food. It's very tricky however, meat is becoming scarce. Meat that doesn't come from criaturas. Carnivores such as Arnou have much to prove. Harsh restriction from what they need to survive. Soon enough either the carnivores will be severely endangered with the risk of extinction or the preys will be rather few which will than cause the carnivores to die. Thus, humanity will disappear along with criaturas. I don't know how Priest Nómos will get out of this one. Better wait and see. He has probably already thought up everything. As well as we know it, Priest Nómos is an organisation, a group of people, immature when it jokes to parliament, willing to destroy the human race if it comes to having power. Many people I remember from before The Change I have never seen since. Many of my dearly close friends. Maybe they are somewhere else. Maybe it was just bad luck our vehicle had to land in Ruina. Maybe if we'd had a better destination we wouldn't be in this state of non-democratical environment.

"Echo what are you going to do?"

"Probably orange and lemon, the combination should go down smoothly, you?"

"I'm thinking more along the side of rosemary and herbs."

"Nice. If only we could taste the results."

"Hehe, I wish we could too..." She answers.

We prepare everything in order for it to be perfect, the quantities of exact amount.

"Why don't you go to Church anymore?" Dwell asks seriously.

"I am not Christian."

"How come? How long haven't you been?"

"I was never really Christian since we arrived in Ruina."

"Why did you come so much then? You've been going for 64 years Echo."

"I..." I was ashamed, I wanted to tell her, "I was ashamed." I said repeating my own thoughts.

"Ashamed of what? Of not being Christian?" 

"Of myself. Of what would happen if I didn't go. I believe in Syllipsi. I would feel guilty whatever my decision was."

"Syllipsi?" She was confused, "I've never heard of that."

"It is a religion that has been in my family for a bit of time. One of my grandmothers created it."

"You have your own religion?"

"I... I guess."

"What's your theocracy? Or do you have none?"

"You know what I don't want to discuss it right now," I honestly didn't, "it's not that major."

"But please, do you believe in god?"

"I really don't want to talk about it." 

She understood and just nodded apprehensively even though it was clear that she was weakened by the conversation. Maybe because she found it strange that I had my own religion. Maybe it was because she was in shock that I wasn't Christian and still confessed to The Lord. Dwell is a strong believer. I had probably unwillingly triggered a rush of embarrassment towards God coming from such a good friend of hers. That is why I don't want to tell her what I believe in, what Syllipsi is. I will tell her when the time comes, when I know she will comprehend without having to lie blankly to me about understanding. I know she will fake her apprehension, just not to upset me. I don't want her to fake it. I want her to process the thoughts without a flash of bewilderment. 

I put the cakes in the oven and put the timer on fifteen minutes. Cakes filled with many confronting flavours. It pains me to bake something good tasting for such a man. I'm doing this for the fun of it, for Dwell and I, not for the Priest. That helps me feel comfortable cooking such a dish.

"Put yours in the oven, have you?" She asked.

"Yeah, you too, I saw you putting them in, they look really nice."

"I'm getting used to doing this, we could be world-class chefs if we only were allowed to taste our recipes. I bet you we would know each time what was missing and what there was too much of."

"I agree," I chuckled slightly, "so many 'if's living in Ruina."

"If is the only word of hope we actually permit ourselves to say."

"And we try and make it rare, even."

"We really are purposeless." That was more of a fake complaint than anything and yet although it was a joke I agreed to the reasoning and I knew Dwell did too.

I take a large, metal bowl, go and demand a glass of water and icing sugar to those helping with preparing the ingredients. How unfortunate for them, being picked not to amuse themselves whatsoever. I try to be as friendly towards them as possible to cheer up from missing out on the only fun event our work has to offer. Even worst, it was bad luck, they did not deliberately volunteered to do this, they were selected by a random draw. This country is based on so many basic things, repetitive and tedious to re-establish: luck, time and dictatorship. The autocracy is deranged and a disfigured manner to operate, especially for such small community. 
Carefully, I pour the envious liquid into the basin and add sugar. Taking out a wide spoon I stir effortlessly. The two ingredients mix rapidly to incorporate themselves willingly. The icing sugar forming in my mind as the people of Ruina and the fundamentally small amount of water cascading in resembling Priest Nómos. Willing at first to be combined into one, the sugar later realising that this was a grave error, it is too late for them to withdraw. They are trapped in the gushing amounts of water, becoming stronger and larger, it's power growing, defences adjusted to perfection. The bad luck falls in our favour. Why is it we are given wings that cannot fly? Why does everything we have need to be a form of oxymorons? The metaphorical icing is blended in, this mistake has been created. I pour it on the warm cup-cake of an ochre colour, the topping looks thick and of a creamy, yellow tinge. The rustic and antique look created abides much treasured blame. The verdict of the miniature reference to vivacity is solemnly broken and drawn wearily administrating itself amongst the enemy. Its torment of the issue that many concern when role-playing.

"Okay you lazy heads, it's time!" The voice continues, "You've had an thirty minutes to do this and may I tell you that I'm not impressed with half of these cakes! I'm starting to hesitate on whether to let you have the rest of the day off and you wouldn't like to have your only holiday ruined this year would ya?"

That was rhetorical. Of course we want our holiday week, we only have one a year to 'celebrate the Priest's Anniversary' but when we really just celebrate that special time with friends and family.

"Now I'm gonna let you go but if y'all make such horrible mess next year, you can say see ya later to those holidays of yours!"

Bribing. Threatening. The usual ruse of Ruina. Not much of a ruse when it feels so repetitive and incoming. Everything here used to be impossible to imagine, never foreseen. However, we now feel everything that's about to happen, we can predict things. The rhythm of what we are predicting has no such pattern, hense why we struggled at first to understand what was happening. Now we understand that when something doesn't have a pattern it has a flow. You just need to comprehend the mind of the person in command. That is where all our deductions come from. We are starting to see through Priest Nómos as who he is, it is becoming apparent. Such a short day of work. Expected. Whenever Priest Nómos as an anniversary along with Ruina, they want us to feel grateful and that sense of gratitude is never expressed more with us than shortening our day's work to go visit our family friends and so on. Tomorrow is Saturday. Once again the concept of no work and yet no one will enjoy it. The weekends mean the most treacherous of days, punishments are handed out in the morning, sometimes severe consequences apply, people have their and their criatura's lives taken away from them. Last weekend a young man looking about thirty years of age had desparately tried swimming away and destroying the fence with a sharp rock. the damage was extremely little but he was drowned forcefully in a pit of dark water to match his unfaithful attempt at escape. No one has ever managed to leave this land and when they are said to have come close to understanding where they are, they go crazy just thinking about it. Two of the elders are still in shock of having once gone together and escape, they never speak about it. They say that they know where we are but they refuse to tell us, just like Weddy when she adventured through the palace.

Lascivious confronting terrain spread willingly across the spirit's xenophobic visage. Frustration crawled above this soul's tormented ratiocination base, procrastinating the task of easing the mournful morale. Aghast, was the aroma of regal and yet suspiciously preposterous perfume soaring vigorously through the menacing brisk. Dwell. Still confused with the conversation we had earlier. Poor Dwell. She was going through a range of emotions resembling bewilderment. The bittersweet savour languished and gradually diminished and liquified throughout the mirthlessly jubilant mistress. Mirthlessly jubilant. Reflecting our past talk, it suits her. She is jubilant but at times may be mirthless. A whirlwind of blood-curling whispers shimmered ravishingly as if to appeal content, its task was failed, it sounded nothing but stranded. The charismatic trauma leaped violently from the innocent girl's cold and taken-aback lips. They tried to utter words in response but were critically exposed to lies. Lies buried themselves deep below her metaphorically beryl skin. She won't understand. As a matter of fact, if she is so shocked now, I don't see why she wouldn't be in a few years to come.

"Go home now! All of you!"

"Walk with you home?" She offers.

"No, it's alright, you spend the rest of your day with your family. Don't waste an instant of it." I grin.

She grins back.

"See you next task." She starts walking off as she's saying the words.

"Yeah, see you..."

My words were engulfed with deep sorrow and anticipation all at once. The realisation struck me once again like it had many times, I could lose my rare few friends at any moment. It's tormenting in the least. I turn around and begin walk briskly home. I have to take care of Anouk and Sapidah after Prisona, I suddenly remember. Turning my figure around once more and continue walking, this time in a different direction. I start to think about their day, how innocent their Prisona seems and yet the dangers of teaching that lie within. Almost as if Priest Nómos was trying to enforce a law onto these children from such an early age that they would be cultivated and rebuilt into drones without realising it. Of course, they don't only study government, the staff tries to hide the importance of government a little bit by teaching other subjects, so that the young children learning won't suspect being manipulated.

The rare smell of rosemary invades the figments of my imagination as soon as I step foot home. The soaring wind evacuates partly into the house until I shut the door.

"Echo! Sapi, Echo's home!" Anouk enthusiastically calls out.

I grin. She throws her arms around, as if she had no muscles, they just flopped there. She puts on a wide smile of happiness, a toothless smile. Her eyebrows raised in joy, she really enjoyed my presence.

"Echo!" Sapidah rushes to come and hug me, in bliss as well. I lift him up playfully, they are both part of my enjoyment in this world.

This is why I will never be able to let go. I belong here for the moment, at least to show them the way. They are walking along a path, a rocky path. They wouldn't know where to turn, where to head, they wouldn't even know what their destination was if I wasn't there for them. The road is rocky, with many gaps, I am their bridge and I vow to stay that way until they know how to make their way across without a bridge. Even then, I'll still stay around them as extra security.

"How come you finished early?" Anouk asks, not believing I came back so early. Her face is going through constant elation.

"A little celebration." I answer not telling them how it's really to celebrate Priest Nómos, they hear enough about him.

"Mummy is sleeping again." Anouk adds on, a little disheartened.

It must be harsh for them not to have a mother who can stay focused on her children.

"I know." I reflect.

"You do?" Asks Sapi.

"By that I meant that mother is very tired, she needs to rest."

"But she rests every day when Sapi and I come home."

"So many questions but you know mother has a lot to do."

"She doesn't work." They both say innocently, bouncing off each other's words.

"You don't need to work to be tired, Sapidah, have you ever felt exhausted and not known why?" I sit him on my lap, as if I'm about to recount an ancient tale.

"...Yes." He says hesitantly.

"Well, as you get older you get that more and more often."

"How come you're not always tired then Echo?"

I am tired. I just can't tell you, you both have enough to worry about. I wanted to tell them.

"I'm not that old yet," I joke, "besides there are many things I wish to do more than sleeping."

"Like what?" Anouk wonders.

"Like caring for you two beautiful little rascals." I snicker. They laugh.

They are my beautiful rascals and nothing, not even Priest Nómos will ever change that.