There are no manmade
stars
coming from miles away
sending up
a sign
that they are not alone
Not anymore
(She wonders what they must have looked like.)
You can scarcely tell
anything
is even there.
But—
for the silhouette
on nights of the full moon.
(Just like tonight)
(She moves quietly)
There are not so many
stars
coming from the other
side of the heavens.
Light pollution.
(Not that she's ever proven it
but she
knows
those
stars
should be brighter)
They watch over the ruins.
If they can be called that,
"Ruins."
But they have been ruined
(and so long ago)
and brought those that lived there
to ruin.
(But will they ruin her?)
"Ruin"
makes it seem
far
far
older
and far
far
away.
So stand these ruined ruins not yet in ruin.
Runes
mark the entrance.
She is almost able to read them
But
the language is forgotten
At least
Here
it is.
Now
it is.
To her
it is.
She attempts to recreate them in the sand.
A swirling swirl
A line
A quick dash
Dot
Squiggle
Dash Dash
Dash loop
Dot Dot Swoop
Symbols and syntax
fall from her fingers
though she doesn't understand
like a child
an awareness of language
but an inability to understand it.
The recreation
is not exact.
A line too far here
An angle too acute
A squiggle too tight
A curve where it should be true
She wonders if these details
are important.
What has she created here?
What does it mean?
And
Has she matched
the runes on the sign?
Or has she created
Something new?
Inside the city limits
buildings
tower
over so
tall they
look like
they
might
fall over
in the
slightest
breeze.
They don't, of course.
Not a single sway
Not in tonight's most gentle
of gusts.
But she does note a chill.
But not every building is competing
for a meaningless award
of how far they can stray
from the embrace
of the ground that
has always known them.
She is a stranger, yet
she almost feels at home.
She enters a smaller building.
For ruin
Everything is surprisingly well kept
Though not untainted
by time.
A layer of dust
on everything
Everything she can see,
anyway.
She enters further, her eyes adjusting to the darkness
She should've planned this better.
(But the building conspires to help
those who are home)
She creeps further in
Shelves line the walls but
she does not examine every one of them
Until
A familiar shape
Primitive, though it is,
She recognizes it.
She flips the switch—
Dead.
Like those
that once knew this
place as
something.
But some things are revived more easily than others.
And
(in this instance)
she can administer first aid.
She makes the change quickly
and continues through the building.
Time passes,
incessant,
like it always does,
But she remains hidden
inside.
But she is not fearful
Nor is she playing a game
Nor hiding from
Watchful eyes.
(The watchful eyes are too far away)
Eventually,
She emerges
She holds the object
In her hands
Wondering when it was last used
She flips the switch—
Light!
Shining through to the heavens!
For the first time
In many
many
many
years,
Light
Emerges from the city.
From her.
As the stars look down
at the star she has created,
two questions
fill the sky.
What is she looking for?
And has she found it?
