literature

....And for a little while, he felt hope and joy.

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Literature Text

The traveler had walked alone for many years.  It was his way.  From time to time, he would be in the company of others, but never truly one of them. Even when they accepted him and called him one of their own, he didn’t feel it inside.  Not through any failure on their part, but simply because that’s who he was.  How he was wired.  How he was made.

And then he saw a treatment of the old story of Ebenezer Scrooge, only this time it was different.  This time instead of scaring him and terrifying the old man, the ghosts simply changed his history and showed him how things would be if he had taken a better man from the start.  And old Ebenezer was touched and heartened by what he saw, and accepted this better path after an inspiring speech about human nature and choice.

And then the traveler moved on, and saw the grave some some superhero artist or other.  He didn’t recognize the name, but he did recognize the amazing art.  Like sculpture, but breathtakingly real, breathtakingly alive.  So much so that someone else who was visiting was moved to write a book about it.  And it struck the traveller that this artist had not feared death.  This was something he couldn’t help but admire, for all that he was terrified of death himself.

Moving on again, the traveler saw an interesting party as he climbed into the foothills; it was a combination of water park and techno/rock performance.  It was fascinating, but he meant to move on; it was getting dark.

But he recognized the ticket taker from somewhere long ago in his past, though he could not place exactly where or when.  She in turn recognized him, and welcomed him.  She invited him in.  But being always alone he declined, saying he must go.  But she insisted; he could join her backstage, she told him, and meet the band.  All he need do to pay his way was help her carry a few things.

Puzzled by her kindness, but unwilling to argue further, he agreed and helped carry a sign into the back.  She led him to the stage, it seemed to him to be inspired by an old fashioned gazebo, white and round.

Looking out over the crowd from behind the band, he could see the young people, alive and energetic with hope and energy.  He envied them, even as he was glad of their celebration, for still he was alone.   The sun had set--or at least passed below the foothills--and twilight was settling in.

But then the music touched something inside him, it seemed to speak not only to his loneliness, but also to his quest, his seeking, his purpose.

Without asking permission he began to sing, and the band accepted him without argument.  He sung of being the last of his line, of walking among the stars, and of how he would be the one to return to where it all started and rebuilt what was lost.  And as he sang it, he could see it in his mind’s eye; where he had been, why he was needed, and that he would achieve his purpose.  He would return to the now-dark citadel with it’s forgotten technology, turn it’s lights back on, and bring it’s gifts to the people.

And for a little while, he felt hope and joy.  The music and the energy of the young people had lifted him up in a way he had not been in years.

His song ended, and he retreated to the back of the gazebo stage.  Others joined them on the stage now, and it began to get too heavy, to wobble.  Without needing to be told, he left the stage, as did the others who had unintentionally put the band at risk.  The band, not offended, completed their songs and bowed to the applause of the crowd below.

The traveler felt a small twinge of regret that he had not come sooner, and experienced the water slides, but he was glad to have taken part as much as he had.  To have such hope and joy inside himself.

As the band began to pack up, two of the others watching discussed in low voices the strange pink ice cream that would shortly be served.  One was impressed with the formula, the ingredients; the other complained that it was far too expensive.  But the first speaker chided him, reminding him of how good it was.

The traveler had some when it was offered.  It looked like strawberry, but had a thin, bitter taste that was in no way unpleasant.  Instead it fascinated him, and left him craving more.

But there was only so much to go around, and he did not want to deny the others.  So he thanked the girl who had invited him, giving him this moment of zeal and light, and continued up the path into the mountains in the darkening night.
From a dream.
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