The Tear Drop (Chapter 6, page 1 of 9)


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Chapter 6

I stayed with the family that I'd witnessed suffer the highest of sufferings and joys for a week or so. But once again I wasn't precisely sure how long, except through counting the times I'd followed the 'daily' cycles of eating and sleeping. It was a magnificent time I spent with them. They frequently would tell tales of long ago, about their ancestors. One evening around the fire, the farmer spoke of his family who'd walked from the meadows of seed to that land which was previously wilderness. He explained how they'd fought off the beasts that viciously prowled through the woods, conquering them and establishing a settlement where the land could be controlled and useful to them. But, in the story everything was hazy and unclear, and yet to the family they seemed to completely comprehend everything that was spoken. For instance, the farmer talked of how, in the meadow, the sky had grown too heavy, since there were no trees around to support it. It grew more and more dense, settling closer to the land than ever before. As a result, his ancestors began to experience the sensation of being smothered. And this was the motivation for their moving. After he finished the story I questioned the farmer about this event, but I was not satisfied with his answer. For, all he said was "the sky must be maintained every now and then by the woods."


If it hadn't been for my determination to find her, her tear, my identity, I would not have left. In many ways, they had been the closest of relation I suspect I could ever have had. The farmer's wife, whose voice resembled that of a distant bird that had found everything she'd flown through satisfactory, was probably the one who I feared parting from the most. I think it's because she reminded me of her, my lady of the meadow, but not so much that I fancied that she was her. No, this was impossible. Her only manifestation, in this world, was in the seeds. And yet I felt that, if I can remember correctly, there is a vehicle that transports persons on a track that I could compare her situation to. I believe it is called a train, or at least at that time I was briefly reminded of its name. Anyway, just as there are separate sets of tracks that run off from the original and go in contrariwise directions, so to, are there complimentary and unconnected 'times' that move this way and that. I believe, or I have come to believe, that she, the lady whose tear and company I sought, exists on another set of tracks now, just as a train changes its set in order to move forward in another direction. I took comfort in this rather bizarre deduction that, like many of my thoughts took the whole of the world, like a shiny plastic ball, and held it so tight that every crease, every textural facet was made known; at least figuratively.

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