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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.

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© Johnmichael Simon



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