I had read the Words. The same as anyone else. They meant as much to me as they did to the others.
We implored it to stay. Cast ourselves upon the ground below it and cried up to its radiance.
This was their road.
I’m one of the last Piecemen left. We few holdouts who didn’t want to seek refuge in the Light.
Sometimes a longing causes us to exert gravity…causes us to force an orbit.
I’m gutted, emptied, alone. I sit on the floor in my cell, reeling from the news. My legs fail me as I try to stand. The pitcher of water on the nightstand seems to mock me and my thirst. I want nothing more than to cry out, but I have made the Promise of Silence. […]
I seem to pick up parasites like hitchhikers when I’m out there.
Timothy often earned money and trinkets by showing newcomers around and making sure to point them in the right direction for the things they needed. As well as the things he knew they really wanted.
What started with those five plants eventually grew into the many hundreds that adorned the Green Wall.
Through all of this, I have fought hard to continue my writing.