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Inner Circle

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Everyone had heard about the boy that had broken his barrier, the result was fatal for his whole town. Of course there’s an uncountable amount of the “towns”, but he was the only boy bizarre enough to break the only thing that kept us from the unspeakable ones. I had once tried to break it, but my father had seen me, and lectured me on why it was forbidden. That’s when I was told the story of the little boy, the boy who broke the barrier.

Sometimes I would go watch the people from the invisible window. We all know it’s there, they marked it with yellow paint about a foot away, or so they say. The unspeakable ones are just outside this barrier. Menacing as they were in our stories, I enjoyed their company, they were remarkably beautiful. So far beneath us, so unaware of our presence, it was surprisingly seductive. Caressed by the presence of them, and the exquisite godly structures above us- a while ago, when I was younger, they were closer, but they moved further away as our town aged- I felt enlivened, although it was the same view for so long.

Father says that we’re moving; our whole town is. It’s funny, because I don’t feel it. He says we’re moving in air. He says that beyond our waters is air. That’s what those beautiful humans breathe. Breathing air, to think such a thing! He says that their time is much slower than ours; to us what is a century to them is less than a minute.

I have only observed a few humans over my lifetime, the couple right beneath us, the man shouting something into a communication device and the girl yelling something to him. Our town in sound proof, so we can’t hear a thing they say, but I like to make up their conversations. Sometimes my best friend and I make up stories about them. She says that they are a married couple, on their way to work; they don’t love each other anymore, and often fight over small things. A lot like her parents, I don’t tell her that aloud of course. She says that once he had proposed to her on a rollercoaster, back when he was a “certified punk” and she was his opposite, a goody-two-shoes who took ballet. She said that they were so in love that they ran out, so they have none left. I think that’s stupid, how can love run out? I don’t say any of that aloud either.

There was also the man on crutches, the lady hollering at her son from a window on a 25 story building, the man watering the pots of flowers for his flower shop, the girl in mid-air, about to jump in a puddle, her hair sprawled out against the sky, the man being arrested, and the birds flying in a v. They looked frozen in time, but I know better. Sometimes I wonder if they know of us, or perhaps we’re too small.

Today Dad was telling me about how the whole town will be gone in about a decade, because that’s when we’ll burst. Mom cut him off and we went out for dinner at the ‘Fest of Feasts’. I’m a little tired of the restaurants here, there’s only three! I can’t even leave, and I only know the thirty seven families that live here. There’s so many of us in the other towns, but it’s impossible to commute, because of the distance, and the barrier too of course.

Sometimes I wish I was like them, the ones beneath us; those flawless beauties, free to explore their land. Dad says that their land is so big that even if everyone in this town spent their whole life trying to explore it, we wouldn’t be able to. They’re awfully lucky to have so much, while I’m trapped here with the same day every day. Sometimes days are better than others, but none are particularly exciting. Sometimes we have celebrations, but nothing like what a human would do. Sometimes I ask Mom to cook something special, and she does, but It’s nothing compared to their food I bet. Sometimes I lie in bed and feel like I hear them calling to me. Sometimes I lean against the floor and watch them as they silently go about their ways. Sometimes I call to them. Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong here. Sometimes I wish I could break the barrier. Sometimes I wish I didn’t live in a stupid Raindrop.




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