Wonder

I still couldn't believe I was there. It seemed like a dream, or a nightmare, but it wasn't a nightmare. Never before had a dream continued on, long after I had awoken. This was real, though not normal. I look at the shrouded figures around me, each clad in black. They were mourning. I looked down at myself. A voluminous black dress blew in the rain-tinged wind. The wind seemed to be singing. I wondered if I would ever learn the words to its song. The sun hid behind a cloak of gray clouds. It too, was mourning, trading it's bright rays for the darkness of grieving's colors. I tilted my head back, letting the thickening raindrops kiss my face with tiny tears of sympathy. I wondered if even the heavens were crying. Why would they cry? The loss that burdened our souls was a gain that lifted theirs.

My mind drifted slowly back over years of sun-kissed memories. Each moment, so carelessly taken, seeming not to be a treasure beyond compare. Times once laden with sadness seemed now as carefree as the innocent play of children. Simple times, when words were our only company, now seemed to be warnings of what would come. I thought of the awkward moments. The moments when we didn't know what to say, and sat in silence. I wondered what words would have filled those moments, had we but known.

I looked again at the people around me. They seemed faceless in the dim light, as if they were empty. I wondered if they were creatures of light, doomed to emptiness when the sun donned its darker colors. I wondered if I too, was empty. Did darkness rob me of my identity, as it did to them? I wastched them mill about, like beasts whose leader had been slain. I had been that leader, once. Would I ever be again? Had I ever wanted to be at the start?

I felt my own seperation. I looked through the clear walls that seperated me. Had they grown bigger, or had I grown smaller? I wondered if anyone could see through me. I felt transparent, like a ghost, a sould without a being, or perhaps a being without a soul. I wondered if mourning ever ended. I wondered if I ever wanted it to. There was safety in sadness, an ease in mourning. To mourn was to look at the past. To mourn forever would let me never face the futeure. I wondered if there could still be a future. Mine had been written long ago upong a tablet of stone. Now I mourn the death of that stone. Could I ever write another?

I wondered if this was real. I wondered at everything. Then the voices began. The murmurings of things long forgotten, and the voices of those long gone. Then a voice drowned them out. The voice of a black robed priest. I wondered if Death's voice had the same hopeless timbre. The voice continued, and I stopped wondering and listened.

And then the voice was gone and the ringing of an alarm sounded like a trumpet in my ears. It was over. Some dreams can never be forgotten, because they hold the ring of truth.