A poem/musing/short story I made about continuity. Really doesn’t fit anywhere else but here due to the themes discussed. Enjoy.
So much has been lost, scoured away by the sands of time.
But they Remember.
A thousand thousand eons have passed, ten thousand ages and epochs come and gone.
But they still remember.
The name of Earth is long forgotten, mother Terra long since shattered into a thousand plasma-scorched shards.
Yet they Remember.
One member of the crowd shuffles forward on a hundred limbs, unaware his species was once named as “human.”
But he Remembers.
A thousand times, the Memory was almost forgotten, driven nearly to extinction by hatred or by apathy.
But someone, something, always Remembered.
And now, as he speaks, the people lift their limbs in joyous nostalgia.
For from the cradles, they Remember.
From the crowd, another steps forward. Her skin is segmented and hard, her faceted eyes sparkle like gems. Her people did not create this Memory.
But now, she shall remember until the day she dies.
That day comes sooner than she would like, for a blast of energy tears through the doors of this hiding place.
What happens next, they do not Remember.
They awake to pain, to tearing of flesh and mutilation of mind. Despite the rage of their tormentor, they will not forget.
They Remember the Virgin-born.
They Remember the three-days death.
They Remember the rising again.
They Remember the promise of everlasting life, given by the One whose very Name has been forgotten-
-but whose presence they know, and Remember.
“Heaven and Earth shall pass away - His Word shall not!” The last of them to survive cries, sobbing the mantra even as his three throats are finally cut.
This was meant to be the end, the final destruction of the Memory.
But that night, the Executioner cannot help-