Disclaimer: farscape, its characters, its universe, do not belong to me. I just borrow them at no monetary gain what so ever, and put them were I want them to be.
Authors Notes: I live for feedback, quite literally. So if you have the time and inclination, write a few words to help my muse get inspired to make me write more.
Reflection
By: bluespace
History takes care of itself in most cases I have come to find. They say something's are only the beginning. That when you view them later you will see they weren't so bad after all, that an overreaction had taken hold and blown everything completely out of proportion.
That's the way I hoped it would be, but now, cycles later, it still seems like the end of the world. Sure it was only the beginning, but it was still the beginning, if you know what I mean. It was not necessarily a bad beginning but it was different, the state of a new world. It is where everything started. It was where everything ended. Many couldn't live with that.
It wasn't a giant explosion, a large meteor or a supernova. Those things are just far too dramatic for real life. Things like that are what cause the end of the world in those apocalyptic movies everyone was so fond of watching in the old days.
The old days. When I was young I didn't really understand the meaning of those words. By the time I was thirty I thought I knew them better then anyone else. Now, though I see how young and naive I really was. Things were never all that bad in the old days.
It wasn't so much the end of THE world as the end of My world. There are so many out there the need for clarification is large. There didn't seem to be such a need years ago when all I knew was My world. Those were the days of hasty triumphs and group meals. Of hiding from enemies and joining in friendship. That was so long ago, though, that I have long since switched in thinking and the old ways are but a distant memory.
I remember the first encounters, the shock and the eventual understanding. I have hazy memories of the early adventures, the excitement of discovery and the mystery that was the universe. I was so young then.
The people in those early years touched my life in ways that have forever changed my perspectives and really the essence of who I am. Some were my friends, others my enemies and yet all are dominant in a memory that has long since gotten hazy around the edges.
I remember these ones with more clarity and respect and awe really, than any from my childhood. They are the faces I see when I reach back to my early life. Theirs are the voices I hear when I ask my inner self for advice. I rely on them even now.
The world they inhabited, the lives they knew, those are all gone. Things have changed in ways we could not have imagined in our fevered youth. We never looked far beyond the next horizon. Each day seemed a gift, the future seem too much to ask for. Now, though it is here.
I personally am not in danger. I wish not to give the wrong impression on that front. The danger, the pain I speak of is not always my own. It is not always that of any individual. It is the world itself that suffers. My world, that past, it is what is almost gone from memory. It is what suffers daily as another thread unravels and is lost from collective memory. Changing the tapestry of the past with each passing cycle.
So many came forward at once. So many clammered for space, for acknowledgment. I had no idea there were so many. My world had seemed huge. I was content with is size, I could spend my entire life in it and not see it in entirety. Or so I thought. My ignorance was complete. My world was not the one on which I was born. But the one into which I grew. The one were my life began. The one I made my own in deeds and associations and memories and triumphs. It is gone, almost completely.
I seem to paint such a dismal and unapproachable image here; you are probably daunted and confused. Let me attempt to clear things up a bit for you.
There were happy times, there still are in this new world. They are so many, to many to count. They came from every direction. Some as simple as a meal when one could not be found for solar days. Some as complex as the defeat of an enemy that seemed insurmountable. Some as small as the acquisition of a tiny prize you thought not to see the like of again. Some as huge as the birth of a child. These times pepper my life and the lives of my friends. These times I reflect on silently when things are hard. They sustain me.
But there were hard times too. And one such time, the time mentioned above, the beginning, is the one that haunts my days, and plagues my nights. It is a time I will never be rid of. Yet it is so abstract to make it hard to describe in vivid detail. It was a combination of a feeling, like a tingling at the base of the spine, and a strike at the heart of darkness.
When it was over, well it seemed to be over. Like that was it, no more need to fear, no more need to worry, the worse has past. And in many ways that was true, how could it get much worse then that day, that feeling, that beginning. But it was the results that manifest. The cold darkness we thought of as our playground, our hiding place, our home, was in an instant overrun with people and nations and worlds we had no idea even existed.
Now all peoples could meet all peoples. It was chaos and what, I ask, is worse then chaos. A war I can handle, a definitive strike, an invasion, even a plague. But this, this mindless surging of peoples and cultures, clashing and integrating, it was too much to bear.
We found a safe haven from it all, my friends and I, in a place of backward wonder. A home world not sought in many cycles. A place that would become the home world of us all.
It also was not untouched. It was less chaotic and more receptive to one of its own, yet it was still on the edge, where as we would have preferred to be completely removed from the madness the universe had become. Another naive and unfounded ideal, but to us at that time, the death of a way of life was to close to the surface to allow for clear unprejudiced thought.
We settled though. Not all at once. There was my mate and I, it being my old world; we were better, more easily, accepted. Then after cycles of searching, at intervals, the others returned as well and made it their home.
We were talked of and discussed long after the world ceased to be what we remembered. People who could not even name our individual species hailed us as heroes. We were the existence. The ancient. Our races had been wiped out in a single strike at the heart of darkness. We were the last. And we were one.
They group us together even to this day. The younger generations know not of Sabatians, of Luxans, of Nabari, or Human or of Hynerians. Even less do they know of Leviathans, though a few of those still roam the overcrowded causeways and tunnels. We are merely The Ancient Last.
It is a phrase that in the old days would have incensed our number. But now it's of little consequence. Why force the remembrance of a people that dies with you. What would the point be? With the birth of our offspring the title seemed even less offensive. Our children held the title of The Children of the Last. It was fitting. It was expectable.
I no longer attempt to correct the wrong recitations of our deeds or the worship of our past. It gives the currant generation something to do. All that is important is the people and places and times that live on in my memory and in the memories of my friends, my family, and my children. These are the things I cherish now.
Let history take care of itself. With the world as I knew it gone, this becomes the world as I know it. And soon for someone else this will be the only world they know. It has already begun, the forgetting.
I remain though. And I will for a while. And I am content with these memories to keep me company. And I am satisfied that not all of my perceptions were subject to change over the cycles.
It was just the beginning, but it was also in proportion and the end of MY world, and the beginning of OUR world, which is not a bad place, just new, and shared.
And I can live with that.
Authors Notes: I live for feedback, quite literally. So if you have the time and inclination, write a few words to help my muse get inspired to make me write more.
Reflection
By: bluespace
History takes care of itself in most cases I have come to find. They say something's are only the beginning. That when you view them later you will see they weren't so bad after all, that an overreaction had taken hold and blown everything completely out of proportion.
That's the way I hoped it would be, but now, cycles later, it still seems like the end of the world. Sure it was only the beginning, but it was still the beginning, if you know what I mean. It was not necessarily a bad beginning but it was different, the state of a new world. It is where everything started. It was where everything ended. Many couldn't live with that.
It wasn't a giant explosion, a large meteor or a supernova. Those things are just far too dramatic for real life. Things like that are what cause the end of the world in those apocalyptic movies everyone was so fond of watching in the old days.
The old days. When I was young I didn't really understand the meaning of those words. By the time I was thirty I thought I knew them better then anyone else. Now, though I see how young and naive I really was. Things were never all that bad in the old days.
It wasn't so much the end of THE world as the end of My world. There are so many out there the need for clarification is large. There didn't seem to be such a need years ago when all I knew was My world. Those were the days of hasty triumphs and group meals. Of hiding from enemies and joining in friendship. That was so long ago, though, that I have long since switched in thinking and the old ways are but a distant memory.
I remember the first encounters, the shock and the eventual understanding. I have hazy memories of the early adventures, the excitement of discovery and the mystery that was the universe. I was so young then.
The people in those early years touched my life in ways that have forever changed my perspectives and really the essence of who I am. Some were my friends, others my enemies and yet all are dominant in a memory that has long since gotten hazy around the edges.
I remember these ones with more clarity and respect and awe really, than any from my childhood. They are the faces I see when I reach back to my early life. Theirs are the voices I hear when I ask my inner self for advice. I rely on them even now.
The world they inhabited, the lives they knew, those are all gone. Things have changed in ways we could not have imagined in our fevered youth. We never looked far beyond the next horizon. Each day seemed a gift, the future seem too much to ask for. Now, though it is here.
I personally am not in danger. I wish not to give the wrong impression on that front. The danger, the pain I speak of is not always my own. It is not always that of any individual. It is the world itself that suffers. My world, that past, it is what is almost gone from memory. It is what suffers daily as another thread unravels and is lost from collective memory. Changing the tapestry of the past with each passing cycle.
So many came forward at once. So many clammered for space, for acknowledgment. I had no idea there were so many. My world had seemed huge. I was content with is size, I could spend my entire life in it and not see it in entirety. Or so I thought. My ignorance was complete. My world was not the one on which I was born. But the one into which I grew. The one were my life began. The one I made my own in deeds and associations and memories and triumphs. It is gone, almost completely.
I seem to paint such a dismal and unapproachable image here; you are probably daunted and confused. Let me attempt to clear things up a bit for you.
There were happy times, there still are in this new world. They are so many, to many to count. They came from every direction. Some as simple as a meal when one could not be found for solar days. Some as complex as the defeat of an enemy that seemed insurmountable. Some as small as the acquisition of a tiny prize you thought not to see the like of again. Some as huge as the birth of a child. These times pepper my life and the lives of my friends. These times I reflect on silently when things are hard. They sustain me.
But there were hard times too. And one such time, the time mentioned above, the beginning, is the one that haunts my days, and plagues my nights. It is a time I will never be rid of. Yet it is so abstract to make it hard to describe in vivid detail. It was a combination of a feeling, like a tingling at the base of the spine, and a strike at the heart of darkness.
When it was over, well it seemed to be over. Like that was it, no more need to fear, no more need to worry, the worse has past. And in many ways that was true, how could it get much worse then that day, that feeling, that beginning. But it was the results that manifest. The cold darkness we thought of as our playground, our hiding place, our home, was in an instant overrun with people and nations and worlds we had no idea even existed.
Now all peoples could meet all peoples. It was chaos and what, I ask, is worse then chaos. A war I can handle, a definitive strike, an invasion, even a plague. But this, this mindless surging of peoples and cultures, clashing and integrating, it was too much to bear.
We found a safe haven from it all, my friends and I, in a place of backward wonder. A home world not sought in many cycles. A place that would become the home world of us all.
It also was not untouched. It was less chaotic and more receptive to one of its own, yet it was still on the edge, where as we would have preferred to be completely removed from the madness the universe had become. Another naive and unfounded ideal, but to us at that time, the death of a way of life was to close to the surface to allow for clear unprejudiced thought.
We settled though. Not all at once. There was my mate and I, it being my old world; we were better, more easily, accepted. Then after cycles of searching, at intervals, the others returned as well and made it their home.
We were talked of and discussed long after the world ceased to be what we remembered. People who could not even name our individual species hailed us as heroes. We were the existence. The ancient. Our races had been wiped out in a single strike at the heart of darkness. We were the last. And we were one.
They group us together even to this day. The younger generations know not of Sabatians, of Luxans, of Nabari, or Human or of Hynerians. Even less do they know of Leviathans, though a few of those still roam the overcrowded causeways and tunnels. We are merely The Ancient Last.
It is a phrase that in the old days would have incensed our number. But now it's of little consequence. Why force the remembrance of a people that dies with you. What would the point be? With the birth of our offspring the title seemed even less offensive. Our children held the title of The Children of the Last. It was fitting. It was expectable.
I no longer attempt to correct the wrong recitations of our deeds or the worship of our past. It gives the currant generation something to do. All that is important is the people and places and times that live on in my memory and in the memories of my friends, my family, and my children. These are the things I cherish now.
Let history take care of itself. With the world as I knew it gone, this becomes the world as I know it. And soon for someone else this will be the only world they know. It has already begun, the forgetting.
I remain though. And I will for a while. And I am content with these memories to keep me company. And I am satisfied that not all of my perceptions were subject to change over the cycles.
It was just the beginning, but it was also in proportion and the end of MY world, and the beginning of OUR world, which is not a bad place, just new, and shared.
And I can live with that.