The Forgotten

To be a forgotten person means to wander the earth as a ghost. 

The forgotten feel the loss of remembrance everyday. It hangs on them like perfume. They sit in parks and remember the moments when they were remembered. They run their fingers over each moment like a rosary strung with history.

Sometimes the Forgotten Ones leave their park benches and begin to wander the earth. They wander through hills and valleys as far as the train station where the Waiting Ones wait. The Waiting Ones stand anxiously with their important documents clutched to their chest and their bags in their hands. The wait and watch the trains pass them by. The Forgotten Ones watch the them and shake their heads in pity. They abandon the Waiting Ones and travel further North through deserts and swamps carrying their scent of loss with them until they reach a castle. 

Here the Forgotten Ones gather at the gate murmuring amongst themselves, almost transparent and nearly voiceless. Until finally a bell tolls high in the castle and a bridge is lowered and they are led in through the doors that are filled with a splendid light that burns them out.

Here they disappear forever, no longer the Forgotten, but the Found.
Posted in Uncategorized.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *