Dragon Journal (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dragonjournal) wrote2009-06-13 01:58 pm
dragonjournal) wrote2009-06-13 01:58 pm
Entry tags:
Deep breath...
We made it to a city. I've never been anywhere like this place before.
Clean, orderly, and they're taking in refugees. I couldn't be more relieved. Honestly, it was like a blessing in disguise. The disease hasn't spread this far. Not yet. So, the kids and I can breathe easy for a moment.
This city opened its arms to us. We weren't the only ones to pass through the gates. I had to abandon my car somewhere. It ran out of gas. We came in here, with only what we could carry.
I didn't mind. The city is clean, and there is food. Here and there pockets of children attempt to forget the horror outside the walls, where the battle still rages. Their laughter is just a little too shrill, just a little too forced for us parents to truly believe this is over. Even if it's just a brief reprieve, we can't quite wrap our minds around it.
Some of the children gathered around the videos that have made their way here with the owners. Everywhere, there are small groups of parents. Everyone is wondering just what we're going to do.
There's one woman, tall -- statuesque really -- with flowing black hair and a kind twinkle in her eye that wanders among us adults. She offers a bit of comfort, or an ear, and things get done.
A triage station has been set up, treating the minor injuries that abound among us. I had to get a slice on my arm seen to, but it's fine now.
All around us, there are groups, wondering when we will take the fight out. They ask what can we do, other than cower here in the shadows, waiting for the monsters to fetch us.
No one knows what to do.
No one can explain what is going on.
A small group is becoming organised, over in the corner. The woman, Aribeth, is trying to talk sense into those wanting to run out and fight. There is a Presence about her, something not quite tangible. It seems to surround her in an aura of light.
Every so often, she leaves those of us that need comfort and steps into the arms of a man in the corner. The pair of them together is blinding. I can almost see their love and it makes me ache for the fiancé I cannot contact.
Someone raises the battle cry. I want to ignore them, to tell them we have a responsibility to our children, and to this refugee community we are building. Surely, inside this city that we found, something good can come of it.
The group is growing louder, the speeches more fervent. Aribeth is leaving the arms of the man -- someone told my daughter his name is Fenthick. I've resisted the urge to make fun -- and going to the group.
They are angry. They are scared. I cannot blame them. I want to join them. I want to go and fight. Ammunition is scarce, it is true, but there are other ways to fight. I've brought the swords stashed in the car.
I just want peace. I want to forget... but every time I come close, a new group stumbles in the door, and tells more horror stories. It's spreading. The fight is hopeless.... All these things they say, and no one can dispute them.
Aribeth stands in a shaft of light, making her hair shine and her skin appear golden. She's a beautiful woman, even to me. It makes me wish I could draw. She deserves to be captured on canvas, for words can never do her justice.
I watch around me, seeing the despair, and the depression on the faces of parents cradling children. A mother weeps, clinging to a young boy, and I remember her saying that her husband is gone.
For now, Aribeth seems to be the leader. Some of them follow her lead, others watch her with disinterest, or disdain. I only hope this day might end, so that we might begin to rebuild that which we lost.
Clean, orderly, and they're taking in refugees. I couldn't be more relieved. Honestly, it was like a blessing in disguise. The disease hasn't spread this far. Not yet. So, the kids and I can breathe easy for a moment.
This city opened its arms to us. We weren't the only ones to pass through the gates. I had to abandon my car somewhere. It ran out of gas. We came in here, with only what we could carry.
I didn't mind. The city is clean, and there is food. Here and there pockets of children attempt to forget the horror outside the walls, where the battle still rages. Their laughter is just a little too shrill, just a little too forced for us parents to truly believe this is over. Even if it's just a brief reprieve, we can't quite wrap our minds around it.
Some of the children gathered around the videos that have made their way here with the owners. Everywhere, there are small groups of parents. Everyone is wondering just what we're going to do.
There's one woman, tall -- statuesque really -- with flowing black hair and a kind twinkle in her eye that wanders among us adults. She offers a bit of comfort, or an ear, and things get done.
A triage station has been set up, treating the minor injuries that abound among us. I had to get a slice on my arm seen to, but it's fine now.
All around us, there are groups, wondering when we will take the fight out. They ask what can we do, other than cower here in the shadows, waiting for the monsters to fetch us.
No one knows what to do.
No one can explain what is going on.
A small group is becoming organised, over in the corner. The woman, Aribeth, is trying to talk sense into those wanting to run out and fight. There is a Presence about her, something not quite tangible. It seems to surround her in an aura of light.
Every so often, she leaves those of us that need comfort and steps into the arms of a man in the corner. The pair of them together is blinding. I can almost see their love and it makes me ache for the fiancé I cannot contact.
Someone raises the battle cry. I want to ignore them, to tell them we have a responsibility to our children, and to this refugee community we are building. Surely, inside this city that we found, something good can come of it.
The group is growing louder, the speeches more fervent. Aribeth is leaving the arms of the man -- someone told my daughter his name is Fenthick. I've resisted the urge to make fun -- and going to the group.
They are angry. They are scared. I cannot blame them. I want to join them. I want to go and fight. Ammunition is scarce, it is true, but there are other ways to fight. I've brought the swords stashed in the car.
I just want peace. I want to forget... but every time I come close, a new group stumbles in the door, and tells more horror stories. It's spreading. The fight is hopeless.... All these things they say, and no one can dispute them.
Aribeth stands in a shaft of light, making her hair shine and her skin appear golden. She's a beautiful woman, even to me. It makes me wish I could draw. She deserves to be captured on canvas, for words can never do her justice.
I watch around me, seeing the despair, and the depression on the faces of parents cradling children. A mother weeps, clinging to a young boy, and I remember her saying that her husband is gone.
For now, Aribeth seems to be the leader. Some of them follow her lead, others watch her with disinterest, or disdain. I only hope this day might end, so that we might begin to rebuild that which we lost.