Friday, March 24, 2006

   Rain of the Burning Tears
The moon is full and the stars are bright as the city below lights up the night sky like a beckon to the Heavens. As the sun rises and the lights slowly flicker out as if overpowered by the giant bulb; the sun’s reflection glistens on the magnificent skyscrapers and brightens up the wondrous streets filled with the individuate masses. This was the great city of L.A. known to all in the prosperous year of 2018. Oh, how this city was golden and perfect. I wasn’t born yet, but undoubtedly conceived by my beautiful mother that year. Our gorgeous house near the sea side stood like a castle in my eyes. In the arms of my smiling mother staring into the deep, blue moon nestled safely away in my warm bed. Fake. All of it. This was my false dream, the dream I craved and wished for. I never got the chance to see or know my mother. The chance was swept away without my acknowledgement. I don’t know why. I do not lie in a safe, warm bed; but cower in a cold, lonely one. This place, this Hell, is my home. It is an institution, for what, I do not know. I’m seventeen, in the year 2035- a retched year; this is really the only thing I am certain of. There are many others here, my age and other. We can only believe what we’re told. These… people call themselves “The Shadows”, they work for something called “The Cult of War.” I know we’re stationed n Los Angeles and out my window I can see the truth. These streets are no longer the beautiful streets that I imagine. The workers here once lived in this great city, tell me descriptions of the ancient beauty these decayed buildings once held. How I long to see this city in its prime. How I dream of my mother. I wish I could leave this place; the things they do to us are unimaginable. It’s all so vivid, all the needles, training, and the pain- oh the pain. It comes in bursts really. Random pain, it feels like the inside of my body is burning and the outside is freezing. It can go on for hours or may last only for a few minutes. I don’t really know how it is for the others; we really don’t like to talk about it. The only thing we know is that the guards only look at us and whisper, then when we’re on the ground shaking from our internal agony, they come to give us some kind of shot-before we know it we wake up in our bed; sometimes kids are never seen again. We’ve all looked for away out of this “prison”, but there seems to be no way out period, more or less a way in. I love to sleep… we all do really. It’s the only time to be at peace, and then we awaken to the cruel world- to reality, our Hell. L.A. in ruins, us in our confined home, and our mothers- God only knows. Dead, shackled in some cell, or alive and well- happily knowing their children isn’t their concern anymore. Our past is unknown and our future is uncertain; either way we’ll never leave here- we’ve abandoned all hope. My I.D. number to this institute is 07 and I was one of the first; they call me by the name of Xia and this is my story. Welcome to my world…
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