Homeland

Letter Four (edited)

Citudaolle,

            How do you remember me, Citudaolle?  What image appears in your head when you think of me?

            I can tell you how I remember you.  I remember how I was so scared, that night we were forced to drink the potion.  It was in a gray, square room.  Gray brick, with concrete floors.  All the boys were lined up against the wall opposite the girls.  We were but fifteen years old.  A man, tall and reedy, stood in the center with rows of glass cups - no bigger than a thimble - in front of him.  They were filled with a creamy white liquid.  The children stood in a row, seemingly random.  One by one each child would step up, one from your row and one from mine.  They would drink the potion together.  We all knew, of course, what was going on.  Most of us girls were simply nervous, as we were worried we would be stuck with a hideous, sickly child.  The first thought I had of you was that you weren't too bad.  Tousled black hair, the characteristic pale skin and sharp bone structure.  You stood a head taller than me, about nine feet.  I was grateful the Children's Counsel set me with a shorter person, as to not emphasize my petite frame.  

            Then we tipped our heads back and swallowed the liquid.  It tasted like nothing.  Like I was gulping down extremely moist air.  The next moment, when I looked at you, I felt odd.  It wasn't necessarily love.  It was more like... more like you were my stronghold.  I trusted you, you trusted me.  Then we walked out, hand in hand, spending the rest of the day learning about each other.  We spent the rest of that year talking, playing, doing whatever mischief we could conjure.  Always in each others' company, except during the night.  But after about ten months, even the counselors guarding the dorm rooms didn't stop you.  In the deep of the night you would tap on my window, and we would creep out and spend the hours conversing in hushed voices, teasing each other and kissing.  After a few weeks everyone else started doing it too.  But we were the first.

            The topic of the conversation wandered aimlessly, from dreams to opinions to the past.  There wasn't much to say about the past.  We were just young, naïve children then, eating and sleeping and learning about the other nations and other worlds.  School had taught us about the different worlds.  The land humans call the Heavens.  The land of peace, and conformity.  Then there is Hell.  Our home.  School taught us only facts.  There was no emotion in it, no interest.  But the future, that was a broad topic.  What sector would we be chosen to go into?  The government, of course, needed workers, and in most every couple there was a person in the government.  Which one of us would it be?  Would we be a warrior, with the fierce training and the strict rituals?  Or agriculture, with simplistic days, each blending in to the other?  One of us might be assigned to production, creating products like clothing and furniture.  We didn't talk much about the children's department.  We would be separated.  That fate was too awful to think about.

It's these moments that I prefer to think about.  No matter how much I wish to think ill of you, it is hard to forget those many years you were the sun that illuminated my life.

Khlamuherguetora

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Hi!  So... you like?  You don't like?  Darn.  Why? Hehe.  Mind commenting? 

By the way, is this starting to get a little boring?  Sorry, if it is.  Bear with me.  It's just there's so much of her history that I have to explain... about 1700 years... But I'm getting a little bored of writing so much 'do you remember' stuffies, so there should be some more interesting stuff coming soon.  Not action, unfortunately, but I'm going to introduce a new character soon.  Keep your eyes peeled!

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okay.  so i changed/edited it. hope it's a little more comprehensive now!