Weirder Things 2

6. Exodus

You didn't see it. You weren't there. None of you were, but that's not blame I'm laying at your feet. There's nothing for you to be blamed for.

None of you'd been born yet.

But good god... you missed it. The single greatest triumph in our long, shameful history.

The mass fleeing. Their exodus from this broken world.

They were tired of the blasphemies being performed and propagated, even sanctioned, by their fellow man. Science was cutting down the Tree.

It was chipping away at the past.

Many had already lost their faith in the old ways.

They'd long since forgotten about Selene. The fish that would always leap from her depths.

About how she had been forced to deliver righteous vengeance upon Atlantis, which had also forgotten about her.

Forgetting. That's the worst kind of sin. The Gods hate being forgotten.

You should've seen it. All of those lanterns, swinging from side to side, as they released the anchors.

You could've seen them waving, heard them saying goodbye.

It took them a while to break through, for the balloons to ascend beyond the smog and the clouds.

They could only go so fast. There wasn't enough fuel. Not enough lightbugs were left.

But I'd like to think that they didn't really care. That they were capable of ignoring all bodily concerns.

That the cold hadn't bothered them. That the hunger had quickly subsided.

I'd like to think that they're still up there, that they did make it. I can hope. I can dream.

And I dream of a banquet hall.

An infinite chamber of light. Tables carved from space and time, covered by all manner of food.

Strange food.

Even stranger meat.

Cups of sloshing stars.

And I dream of them, sitting before Selene and her blinding throne, partaking in a long awaited feast.

Watching us suffer.

Down here.