Dream of Forgotten Times

We are one.
More than just a group of people, we are one living, breathing, organism.
But being one does not change the fact that we are trapped.

The cart travels faster and faster down the tracks. Amidst the huddled bodies are you and I.
We have not pondered the world together for long, and as much as our lifestyles and appearances differ, so do our beliefs. Yet we are still together.
The cart flies down the tracks, and within moments our breath is held. This is not just something shared between you and i, rather, it is shared between all of us.

Jolt.

The darkness surrounds, and as I touch around I realize that we are no longer on the train, and that we are on solid ground.
I peek through my half slit eyes and see something that leaves me breathless and unable to make a sound.

We are prisoners, and not ones of war. Having no recollection of the events prior to the train ride I can not say for certain what has happened, but we cannot go back.

My eyes glace over the crowd, and my eyes fumble over a man standing at a podium. He looks uncomfortable. He tells us that our home planet has been destroyed, and despite his people's lack of sympathy for our kind, they would take us in to their world.

First this confuses us, as we know of no other worlds, but it becomes clear. This is not another planet, nor are these before us another race. An Elitist group had formed a compound near the north pole two hundred years ago. It fell out of use shortly after being established. However, when the new world war commenced, it was reopened.
We were saved from complete annihilation to work as servant for these leaders of the new world.

I hold your hand and you tell me that things will not be as bad as the seem. I hope you are right. We are led through the cement city that looms high into the sky, and all I wish for is another glance at the stars.

Our sleeping quarters are gray. Cement is once again the material of choice. We each have a bunk through a series of connected rooms, and we are left to divide into our own groups and conquer our territory.

We soon meet up with other friends and acquaintances. There are almost ten of us combined. We push through the masses and find the bunks at the very end of the room. Things are looking up.

We sleep.

In the morning we all receive jobs based on the number we draw. I draw high, you draw low.
I become a window washer for a short time, we redraw in a few weeks. You get a permanent position however. You are to serve those above us.

We go our separate ways during the days, and are reunited during the nights with those that we know.
Sometimes we walk around the city, glancing above and looking for stars where no stars will ever form. We talk about what life could have been, who we can be, and what life was. We enjoy times with our friends and form a pact to always stick together with our group.

Work becomes more straining, and our relationships slowly start pulling apart at the seams. Those of us who used to be one have fell apart into many, and although we still frequent each other's company, the time is slightly awkward and founded upon memories.

Then one day you leave. No words of goodbye, no words of anger or anguish. Our group slowly dies, and moves on. I find new companions to spend my time with.

The days tick by like seconds, and the minutes tick by like years, our lives are very different than they used to be, but the new routines slowly wear into our beings, and we forget except for on occasion that life has been any other way.

While working in the cafeteria with a new group that I fit quite nicely with I see you in the distance. My eyes shift quickly trying to understand if what they see is real or imaginary. You glace at me and look away. I drop what I am doing and head toward your silhouette, but the distance is too great, and when I get close enough to see if it was really what I had thought, you had vanished.

Months past. Life is enjoyable with little indulgences behind each hard working day. You have been pushed to the edge of memories existence, but often your teetering on the edge is enough to draw my attention back to the past.

Finally we meet. You are with a new group of friends and do not knowledge me when I speak. My soul shakes but I contain my emotion. My group warns me that I am better than trying to fix a rotted bridge, yet I try.

Sometimes you act as if our relationship had never happened, like we never talked of oceans beyond these walls. I take life up on other offers and live life beyond you. Then you find me in darkness and whisper in my ear, I am given a sense of second chances, and thoughts of you flood back.

Then I am ignored, and I punish myself. I am stuck with clashing views. I think I miss you, but in reality I miss the memory of you.

I realize things will never be the same, and try and live my life, but even with new experiences you linger on the edge of forgotten memories.

Then one day, years later I see you. Your status has been raised substantially, and you now sit with some of the most powerful. I hate you and yet miss you. I tell you I hate you, and when those who you are with hear this insult coming from such a low life form, I am sentenced to death.


As I stand above the crowd I see you in the distance and wonder if you remember when we looked for stars where no stars could form. I am dropped downward and wake before my neck snaps.