The Station, Part 71

I look up once again to the circle of singers above, and focus beyond them. I can make out other domed structures like this one. They too have been opened, allowing their inhabitants to view the celebration. I suspect that they too are singing. And I see thousands of their kind lining the sinews that interconnect their homes. It is an astonishing sight. A chorus of thousands. It is an effort to take my eyes away, but I manage. I return to her her. Her tears have collected into small pools at our feet. She stands fully erect now. Her size is no longer a frightening sight for me. And behind me the younger adult I now know to be male and her subordinate, holds something in his hands. It is made of the same substance as their homes. But this creation is more refined, smoother, and more delicate with an inner lining of soft silk-like material. It is just large enough for one creature of my particular size to sit within its comfortable interior. This little thing, this cradle, is something special. It was made just for me. They have told me al of this without words. It was in their singing, it was in their expressions. In every body gesture. I will not disappoint them. It is time to return their generosity. I step inside and sit upon its silken bed.

And with that, the old one spreads her wings wide, and with an ever so slight push of her legs, she takes us up out of the chamber and into the sky! I can truly see the enormity of her home, this great city nestled within and around great fibrous vinery. All around us, hundreds of her kind have joined us in flight. They are ancient as well. Perhaps they are the representatives of this community, ambassadors of goodwill. Every face is different, unique, but all share the same expression of great happiness.

Up we climb traveling past one domed chamber after another; their song uninterrupted as we pass countless numbers of their kind, all of whom sing with wing and voice. A single, unbroken song of a chorus that must ultimately measure in the millions. Our course takes us ever upward into the sunless heaven. And then I begin to see it and I understand a little more. I see the conjoining of tunnels from all places within the Leviathan. Some of them intertwine as if in a loving embrace before ending. Others take a more direct course. Still others arch upward at an angle that perhaps only the most skilled climber would be able to traverse. But all share one thing in common—their destination. And that, as I’m just now beginning to fathom, is where the old one and her kind head right now. It is a great, perfectly white sphere. I recognize its shape as I saw it from the inside, from my Sleep Lesson. It is my turn to shed tears and I do so unashamedly. It is the Junction. My key to salvation. Except now, there is something altogether different about its meaning for me. Seeing the Junction is like seeing a home thought lost long ago. It is this feeling I do not understand. I should be thinking of getting inside and determining which among this myriad of tunnels is the one that will take me to my former home. I must be overwhelmed with stimuli—I cannot remember its name. This place that I seek. That place full of stark gray walls and now meaningless colored lights that blink in mysterious patterns. I know this name. Or do I anymore? I feel I may have lost more than I realize. But have gained so much more perception, both external and internal, the longer I stay here. The sacrifice is not an altogether painful one.