The Dark Details

They called me a hero. I used to believe them. What other choice did I have? I’d been told the same droll since day one: that I was a special boy, that I was amazing, that I could do anything, be anything. And I was. I was unbelievable.

But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? Nobody believed in me, or in us, or in this place. Nobody wanted to, because we were too far out of the reach of their imaginations. They didn’t bother trying to grasp at the last remaining tendrils of our existence, the only things keeping us tethered to their world.

It was okay, though. I’d reached the age where I’d wizened up and accepted that no matter how hard I try to keep the tendrils together, eventually, they’d snap. And I was fine with that. Change is inevitable.

There are some, however, who think I’ve gone soft, that I should’ve held steadfast to the belief that we are meant to stay connected with the other world – your world – or risk losing everything.

It was all because he came along and ruined everything. He spoke to us – to my boys – about being a true leader, about holding tight to your beliefs, about ensuring that our existence wasn’t wiped out by ignorance. I tried to explain to him that we will never be truly gone, but the mind of a child (for this is what he is, and what we all are) is hard to change.

He was the first to say I’d gone soft, that I should relinquish “my throne” (even though I don’t see myself as a king, but as one of the masses) and hand over my crown. That I should finally give up the big secret, the one that everything was looking for: the secret to staying young forever. Why should I be the only one with the glory of eternal youth, he asked me?

But he doesn’t understand. He’ll never understand: some things are meant to stay secret, lest the skies open up and the very ground shatters beneath our feet. We will be destroyed, and we will be lost.

But then, we’re already lost, aren’t we?