Ficly

Into Great Silence

I knew when I left that I would never return. Perhaps this is why I have sought a resting place in the arms of strangers and the dwellings of temporary friends. Without roots I have looked for meaning in things fated to pass.

But now I find myself walking these streets, plucked from memory, following the scent of my mother’s kitchen back home. This is the City where I was born.

Cinammon and dried fruits, herbs hanging in bundles, my sister laughing as I wave goodbye…

I push open the familiar door, startling a young girl who plays in the dust.

I raise my hand. “Hello.”

I am not her brother.

“This is Bayt Manzel, which all believe to be their home, though all who live here are strangers.” The man who speaks from the shadows has the voice of my father.

I am not his son.

I find myself leaving. I find myself lost.

Already I long to return but Bayt Manzel is elsewhere, displaced by my longing. Most Cities are still, for now, but all are transient.

My journal is full but I do not have an ending.

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