Tomorrow I will (attempt) to capture the third and final day of Comic-con for us, but for now I am compelled to write an entry that’s been bouncing around in my head for a week…
Ode to a refugee
I just don’t understand what happened. My home. This was my home, and now it’s gone. My grandparents grew up in this home, as did my parents, as did I. I was even raising my own children here — oh sure the rooms were small, but somehow we made due, and I could hear the voices of my ancestors before me as I tended to my beautiful babies. The view was unmatched, and food was plentiful. We were in Eden, and didn’t know any better. But as the apple falls, the serpent shows its fangs and it’s over before we realize what’s happened. I swear I only went out for the afternoon. We were running low on groceries, and they were all sleeping so peacefully — what could possibly happen? What hubris. Damn it, I can’t take it back and now I’m worried sick and so confused. There used to be a door here, I know it — now… just a wall, bloated and unnatural… and impenetrable. My grandmother told me once of a story similar to this, but in her tale she worked her way back in, and found solace. Not now. No, I have this sickening feeling that my children are gone, and I am left adrift, forced out into the open cold after so much of my life spent in relative safety. It’s not like I gave up easy. I banged on the wall, tore at it with my hands and kicked it with my feet. I even tried biting through the unnatural growth that blocked my way in to my loving children. But no avail — this blockage could not be moved. The door was now shut. If my babies were in there, I don’t know how they’re going to get out again. What am I supposed to do? I don’t know the outside world, the streets are all strange to me. This is my home, but it is gone. All gone. Resigned, I must retreat and find safety in another home, perhaps near enough to gaze at my ancestral halls, or perhaps a distance away where the evil that has consumed my life cannot find me. In a world of giants and monsters, I must thrust myself. Perhaps it’s time for me to leave the garden and venture out into the greater world. Yes, I think that must be the case. This is a sign of some sort. Yes, a higher path. Let me venture, and cleanse myself of the pain of my loss. Let me continue the work of my forebearers. My babies are gone, but more will follow. More, that is, if I can find safety. Goodbye home. Perhaps we’ll meet again, but something tells me that will not come to be.