Bone Children
Clickity-clack, clickity-clack, clickity-clack... the rhythm of man curls around metal wheels one attached to another, steel to steel, following itself in endless banter. Its dark methodical rumbling threatens the edge of their existence, clawing carelessly at the boundary as it moves hapelessly on. The bone children halt their play, drift to the waters' edge fixed with fear and penance. It is not of their world; not of the reeds and waterfalls, not of their animal skins and simple ways. The rocks and sand are their homes, the animals their kin, the water their playground and the breeze their joy. They sing to the wind the sounds of their souls, they call to it with the rhythm of the bones and they dance; lighter than the stray flight of dandelion quills, heavier than the clapping of thunder. They dance and chant their existence. These are the things of their world. The mechanical beast is from another. The bone children know that the two are not meant to meet, but distance is a precious wind and no prayer can account for a lack of breezes.
Lender moves to the river's side, climbs upon a rock and kneels, dripping water ridges onto stone, meeting its uneven edge with his forehead. The others follow, swiftly finding rocks to bow to. Glinting water diamonds jewel their sun soaked backs and slowly rain upon their river alters.
Core's body quivers. Clutching to his rock his small frame convulses shyly; a quake of cold, silent terror; a storm of understanding. He is the smallest; his bones the least substantial, covered by the least amount of thin skin. His sensitivities are raw and nee
ódy. He is dark and sullen, joyous and light all at the same time. The clan nurture him with fear and passion. They believe he sees things. He is their child and their treasure.
Breath inches slowly towards him, careful to keep her head down, her concentration clear, fearful she might somehow make things worse. She reaches Core, slowly envelops him, holds him hard until his tremors cease. He pulls away, slides quiet to his own small rock. She respects his need.
The sound rumbles louder, closer, more. The children clutch the amulets around their necks. Each wears a string of small bones, bits of power connecting them to a calmness they do not understand, pieces of spirit sisters: Lender the rabbit, Breeze the squirrel, Breath the owl, Speaker the frog, Fury the bat, Storm the turtle, Pain the trout, Ruin the snake...
Slowly, straining, the sound retreats, moves on, passes. The bone children unfold, raise their gaze, take breaths.
Core is gone.
A train screeches to a sudden stop.
A woman descends the stairs. She wears layers of fine, crisp, white lace. She wears cut diamonds and polished pearls on her fingers, on her wrists, in her ears, around her neck and in her hair. She is highly decorated.
She is fascinated by the small child dancing on the tracks, obstructing their
passage. He moves like milk. She believes he is beautiful. Small, flowing, naked, magic. White, churning apparition. Fingers ticking, hair flying, eyes dripping. He is possessing, she is possessed. They can not meet like this.
A snake pulled by the hypnotic flute, she falls to her knees before him. He stops, their eyes lock. All things pass between them.
DO NOT
FORGET
THAT WE
EXIST
He reaches up and wraps his fingers around the set of small sparrow bones flanking one perfect white feather which adorns his neck. Pure will releases the sinew knot. He hands the gift to her. She takes without seeing. He blinks to release her. Momentarily, she contemplates the gift.
When she looks back up, there are only train tracks vanishing into a distant horizon and a small white sparrow soaring into the sun.
