Vernacular

Although most would not believe it, my kind gets tired.

Well, at least, I do.

It is no fatigue in the physical sense, no; time and conditioning has rendered such mundane pains and problems harmless to us. We have no need for sleep because our bodies do not become weary, nor does it ache. Sleep comes to mortals because their energy is gradually depleted as they expend it. Sleep recharges that energy, and upon waking, it is as if they were never exhausted, eager and willing to expend that energy all over again. They intake various foods and drinks to augment that energy, enabling them to extend their periods of consciousness and activity.

I suppose we do things in a similar way, albeit that our food is our drink, our drink our energy, our energy our sleep. One action satisfies the several needs that mortals have to deal with. Their bodies are such trivial things, working off of such odd processes, functions, and rituals.

But, no, I talk of a type of fatigue most of them cannot comprehend-loneliness. They complain of it; I have heard it endlessly. Alone in the dank halls of a castle, alone in the tight confines of a village, alone in the inner sanctum of a forest. They do not know how lucky they are to only have to endure the loneliness that they whine and whimper about.

There loneliness can only last a century.

But what of a loneliness that has existed among the columns of Rome? The sacred grounds of priests and the war-torn cinders of war-ravaged countries? What of the loneliness endured in the revolutions of peoples, and the falls of empires, and the loss of cultures? They know nothing of loneliness. They choose to remain in what it is they call isolation; they can hear the voices and choose not to listen; they can see the faces and choose not to look.

I have long ago lost such luxuries.

But, that night, I felt that things were destined to change. The forest had become less active, as if it was holding the breath I did not have. The animals seemed tense, and the air, frozen. I suppose I should have been more wary; my exile to the wilds has taught me how to erect an eternal barrier of awareness. Something, though, forced me to draw them down, so far down that I almost felt a touch of anxiety; something was about to happen that night, and maybe, just maybe, it would wake me from this stupor I had slipped into.

I did not expect it to happen exactly as it did.