Something I wrote a few years back, cleaned up a bit. I'm not sure where this came from or what, if anything, I plan to do with it. Just curiouse as to what people think. Let me know, kids!
Edit: Went through and corrected some things people mentioned. Re-post!
My name is Murmur.
I had another one, once, but I forgot it.
Of course, everything was different, then.
Then, the trees and bushes were my lovers, and the lakes and rivers my mistresses.
The sky was always blue, and the clouds white and so far away. The roof of the world hovered whole above us, and everything was so big and so open.
Then humans came, and it changed.
One by one, we fell, and we died. I felt it- all of my kind did- as each of our giant brothers and tiny sisters crumbled. What the humans could not own, they destroyed. What they could not tame, they killed.
Until they had owned all, or annihilated it.
But some of us fought, stood against them. The signs of it are still clear in your forests, your wolves. Your wild things and wild places. We refused to be tamed, we refused to be captured.
But in the end we fell.
And now I am the last.
I am tied to them, bonded to my friends, my loved ones, the few that remain. I will be with them into death. Their screams are given my voice. Their pain doubles me over in throes of agony so sharp I can not breathe.
I found a bird, once. A pigeon. Beautiful little animal, all soft grays and whites. It had been shot with a bb gun, from the looks of it. It's life bonded mate wept over it. No one else could hear, but he wept. The wounded bird struggled to live, but it was in so much pain, so much pain.
I killed both those birds. I killed those birds with my bare hands, because it was kind. I killed them because I was selfish. I cried until I had no tears left, but I murdered them none the less.
For every one I save, ten more fall. Each life I save winks out again in a year, a month, a week, a day, an hour.
It is futile to fight any longer.
And yet.
And yet I walk on. Towards what, I don't know. There is something- something- just out of reach- just-there-
The wind pushes me onward.
She is my sole comfort left, the wind.
Before, she would dance with me in joy, laugh with me, race me over plans and wrap me in her arms like a lover. She would support my rage and sooth my sorrow, a loyal friend.
Now, it is different.
Now, she kisses away my tears of pain. She cocoons me protectively from man's destructive hands. She pushes me on when I am afraid. When my legs shake and give under me, she tugs at me encouragingly as I fight to stand. When I want to stop, she won't let me.
Just a few steps more, my love, just a little further. Come, love, a little further, you can make it. Be strong, for all of us. Make it. She whispers, and I stagger on.
Pressing on, through death and pain, to something that might change it all. Something that has to- please, let it have to- fix this. Fix us.
I don't know what I'm headed towards, but as I walk, I feel it. Under the agony and sorrow, there is fire and fierce determination. Seedlings, dropped from ageless trees before they fell. They take root in the earth and cling to life, and I stroke them tenderly and encourage them. I take strength in their passion and courage. My steps are not as shaky, my stride stronger, more sure. My pain eases just a little as I touch each in kind.
As I walk, I feel it; humans gone against the very nature of humans, planting half-grown saplings that reach out and greet me shyly, unsure of their welcome. In the past, I may have shied uncertainly from them, not knowing how to react. Now I simply greet them warmly and let their presence fill me like food or drink. My poor, wretched body can walk upright now, and the wind whistles in happiness.
As I walk, I hear it; the call of wolves, racing the moon across the sky, inviting me to dance. I decline sadly but laugh with delight. The wind joins me.
As I walk, I sense it; earth, slowly coming to life around me. Slowly gaining herself back. It will never be as it was. Humans will never allow it. But perhaps.....just perhaps.....whatever I'm walking towards will help heal us.
Suppose the walking is half the battle.
My name is Murmur.
I had another one, once, but I forget it.
But, as I walk-
I think, I might-
slowly
start
to
remember.
I'm Mia.
