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Ignosia stirs. Her body sprawls almost motionless
across mountain ranges, shadow-filled valleys –
somewhere inside a brain disused now for millennia
connections struggle snake-like to recover lost memories.
There were creatures here, a thread recalls, felling trees
damming rivers, building. Armies of them, swords glistening
yelling war cries of domination and territory. Where are
they now? Her heavy-lidded eyes scan empty hills,
deserted plains, land, air and sea unpopulated by their
turmoil. They were so numerous – she does not recall
what happened to them. Perhaps she was sleeping?
Yes, there had been mumblings in the grass, in the clouds,
rumors of storms, quakes, huge rocks flying through the
firmament. Was it something the clouds had warned –
a groan of rusting wheels, herds of unmilked cows,
udders full to bursting stamping their feet to the strains
of Baby Mozart?
Ignosia sighs. Heaves herself painfully towards the ocean,
sinks into it. Between continents she swims slowly looking
for them. Deserted cities, crumbling towers, ships sinking
in mold and rot. No sign of them. no polluting smoke and
stench, no mounds of fresh garbage, no threats, beheadings,
bombings, no abusive words or brazen music, no prayers
wailing, beseeching. Empty streets, empty stadiums, empty
halls. Ignosia sighs again, somewhere millennia ago she
had heard that this might happen. Doomed creatures, irritating
in their incessant babbling, squabbling, screaming. They
deserved this fate. Good riddance!
Ignosia slithers back to the ocean. It’s very quiet, she feels
a bit lonely. Somehow she misses them.
© Johnmichael Simon
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