The Call

It started as an echo, less than a whisper, static in the back of my mind. But no matter how quiet, consistency is hard to ignore. This quiet farmland with nary a sound stood no chance of providing solace. No herds or flocks. No birds or insects. Just quiet. The last visitor was ages ago, so long I can’t remember their face, their name, their voice. Even my own voice had begun to fail me; my sight turning black; my limbs growing heavy.

As I contemplated, a large gust blew through the farmhouse, accompanied by a cold chill; dust scattering everywhere. Then I heard it, for one brief moment the echo was clear, the static gone. I could not make out the words, but I knew its direction. Eastward. I knew that I could not ignore it. Curiosity would eat away at me until insanity took its place. And so, with nothing on my back and no possessions to my name, I left my old farmhouse, my once bleating flock, my still and silent windmill. Eastward I would go, where the echo called me.

I hope beyond hope that someone awaits me there.

 As I marched east, I came to a place I knew all too well. A blinding sea of lights, but through the rays I could tell, I’ve been to this city. I sold crops and wool, knew the locals, attended meetings. We held festivals and danced the nights away. But the lights were much dimmer then, and the stars far brighter. It’s people, who once greeted me with warm smiles now disregarded me without as much as a glance, as if I were a shade not even worthy of a fragment of their time. And in all honesty, right now I wouldn’t even want it.

The echo has become a voice. I do not know whose. It is alien yet familiar at the same time. But I know what it wants. It beckons me again, but I cannot focus. The sounds of the city are as deafening as its lights are blinding. It is torturous trying to listen in these streets. I must find somewhere quiet, somewhere like home, to get my bearings. I tried to remember the city from the time I still craved interaction and companionship. How I would pass the time and enjoy the company of my fellows. Then, it came to me. A theater. I passed through some new alleyways and arrived at my peace and quiet. An overstatement to be sure, as I could tell the theater had been abandoned some time ago. The walls were riddled with holes, the windows broken, and I can even see part of the roof had collapsed. This once home of plays and music now belonged to the rats and rodents of the city, and I joined them.

Here I could focus on my objective, my purpose. I strained once more to listen to where the voice was coming from. But as I did, I could tell something was different. A voice? No, this was a song. It was beautiful. Somber and joyful; love for the old with the desire for something new. It came from the east once more. How I wish I could just stay and listen to the song like I used to. But the melody cried out for harmony, and I knew I must be the one to join in. I was tempted to stay and listen, but I would not dare make it wait. I pried myself from my spot and resolved to move on once more. I left the city behind. The blinding lights, the excessive sounds, the listless people, and I thought to myself, perhaps in another life I could find comfort in these things too.

After a full day setting out from the farm, I finally saw my destination. I am sure. At the edge of the setting sun stood a small fishing village, boats barely visible on the horizon. The smell of salt coming in from the coastal wind. This place was home, but not. It was quiet and friendly. People talking in the streets. The market was abuzz with people haggling over today’s catch and meal. Families enjoying themselves together, despite their meager lot. A place where people knew each other, but they did not know me. It was not my place to be known; I was here for a greater reason. Now I could hear it clearly. It called to me. A song asking for me. This was different than the cacophony of the city or the gentle winds in my fields. It was sad; looking for another. It was joyful; the future it could find. It called to me.

The salt permeated the air and mixed with the smell of fish. The docks creaked under the boots of the workers preparing for the night fish. From here I could hear the song out to sea. I knew I must go. I approached one of the workers asking for passage. He paid me no heed nor glance, continuing with his work. Assured in my mission, I took his indifference as a sign of acceptance. Climbing onto the boat, I looked out towards the now set sun preparing myself for what was to come. Out in the ocean, beyond the lights of the town, I found myself humming the song, joining in its melody. Despite never having been on the open water, I was sound of standing. Perhaps I have natural sea legs, or perhaps no legs at all. It didn’t matter now. I was close.

In the middle of the night, the boat anchored looking for its catch; I had found it. The song, their song, had enveloped my very soul. I had taken my time, prepared my harmony, knew what I would say and sing. I gazed up at the stars one last time before turning my gaze downward. And there, in the mirrored sea of night, I saw them.

A shadow. Joyful. Sorrowful. Quiet. Boisterous. Beautiful. Melodious. Harmonious.

Me.

Whole, for the first, and last, time.