Assorted musings by Courtney M. Privett, the time-lost author of The Malora Octet, Huron, and The Bacra Chronicles.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Snippet Sunday: Mayfly Requiem
Do you still remember that spring we found the nest of baby birds blown down by the wind? They died in our hands, naked, vulnerable, infinitely fragile. I cried for days. Such precious life, created and snuffed out in hardly an instant. When we were children, time ran by too fast, but now we are ancient and every day is a slow crawl toward an indeterminate finish line. Our neighbors, our friends, our lovers have become those baby birds. Their lives are fleeting, but that does not make them any less precious. They are meaningful and beautiful. We used to be, but now I am the living damned and you are a breathing, clouded myth. We have nearly faded from all memory, but here we are, alive and forgotten. I like it better that way. It is quiet, tranquil except for my remorse and the ticking, the constant reminder I have of my servitude. The quiescence gives us the opportunity to be... well, be a little bit human. I wouldn't exchange it for anything at all. Except, of course, the opportunity to undo my final mistake as a Time Child. What have I done? What horrors have I brought upon myself and the world? Dia, I'm just as terrified and bleak as those dying baby birds, and as fleetingly fragile.