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The Walk in the Halls of History
The tranquil atmosphere came alive as a gust of wind swept through the heavens… The vast, pompous clouds shifted, casting a blanket upon the elegant blue ocean that overlooks our world… Is it really our world? Who are we to attempt to grasp the reins of the future of this world? For, we can barely salvage the remains of the past…
The world below erupted in pungent anxiety and malevolence… The same wind that scattered the clouds silenced the excruciating pain and bitter hatred. Time came to an abrupt stop, and the images of the depressing endeavor were frozen. The tears that were shed dropped to the ground, creating a frosted hope, formed from the forgotten fear. Light turned to darkness…facing silence, the world wept.
A faint light appeared, revealing a podium on which a tattered, bronze book lay. Voices of the past, yearning to tell the truth, screamed from the withered pages. Chaos filled the room… One particularly ghostly voice called out to the wind, begging, pleading for a chance to tell its story. The gust of wind loomed with its solemn presence. It blew the pages open, temporarily silencing the voices, and blocking all light.
Light returned moments later, revealing a hall that seemed to lead to eternity. The hall appeared to be lit with candles, and lead to a direction completely incomprehensible to the eyes of man. Along the sides of the halls, tattered pages lay in piles long forgotten. The wind progressed, and the faint sound of voices soon became apparent. In only moments, voices filled the once solemn hall. Each voice had a memory and a story to tell, some in languages long forgotten. Their was no confusion between the voices, for each only heard the story that they knew. It seemed as if they were each individual stories, bound together by their indistinguishable appearance.
The wind escaped the mass, only to find emptiness as his only alternative. It was to be faced with an endless abyss, or the memories of those long forgotten. The wind returned to the hall, hushing the voices. Only the strong resisted the winds commands, pleading endlessly for it to listen. Each voice had been disregarded for the longest time, for nobody cared to listen to the truth. The wind wept as he swept through the room. It understood the voices and their reasoning, for he too was forgotten in the world… The loners wept.
Settles amongst the pages of aging, decrepit paper, the wind patiently listened to each account, one by one. The tales that were once forgotten soon became apparent. Although the wind was always present, since the beginning of time, the future generations never failed to twist history… making it biased and cruel. Memories of the time were forgotten, and figures reduced to the lesser of the ages. Opinions engulfed the truth, stretching the messages far from the grasps of human capability. The stories the wind encountered shared their memories and tears that were long forgotten. Moments of joy brought a surge of happiness for the wind and the narrator alike, a feeling that was absent in the fateful abyss.
The wind felt that time was cruel…Cruel to the people living under broken circumstances. It had seen it all, yet when speaking to the voices of the elders; it was shown a new light. Their stories consisted of joy and sorrow, the two strongest emotions thriving in the world today. Each man and woman told of the direction of the world at the time, and of course helping to guide the children of the next generation. One by one, they felt fulfilled, for even though their time on Earth was fraudulent, they were now given a chance to lead the future. The wind wept tears of joy.
Perhaps time was unmerciful to the humans that would always remain children…Unfair to the voices that would always remain soft and delicate. The wind sighed as each story; each child yearned for a life that was taken away from them. Many children told of the wisdoms they were forced to gain young, and the heartache that was widespread during their time on Earth. Finally, they too were fulfilled for the wind listened to their tales of sorrow. The wind wept, for those children would have been the light of the future.
After each and every account, the wind wept, for he realized that the hall was never truly empty. Each voice alone stood for the earthly body they once possessed. Again the wind felt forgotten…Isolated from any trace of purity and morality. The stories filled its head, revealing what it must do. The wind set out, harvesting and assembling the pages of the book. The once withered pages now appeared to be precise and freshly printed. This startled the wind, yet he continued to gather each page, treating them as if they were sacred relics. The faint sound of voices urged it on, as a light appeared in the distance. The wind left the pages at the end of the hallway, and set out to return to the world that was alone.
The world remained silent, as the wind swept through the veil of hatred that was cast upon the Earth…
“If only they knew that the history they have forgotten is repeating itself…”
The wind thought to itself. Silently, he prayed for a better tomorrow… Darkness overpowered the Earth, and the wind wept no longer.
“Today is a new day. Tomorrow we will remember.”
Not another tear was shed.