My little girl pleaded for me not to go. That was the hardest moment of my life, looking down at those big blue teary eyes, ripping me apart with every sob. I was shook by the memory of the words I had told her when this all began. All the nights I held her close, promising I would never leave her, that I would always be there to keep her safe. She’s too young to understand but this is the only thing left for me to do for her. If I go now, her and her mother will have their names moved to the bottom of the list. So this is my love for her, my final gift. A little more time.
I stand in line with over six hundred others on this morning. The way it has been since the onset of the event. Hundreds, thousands of people, day after day, herded like cattle across the platform and on board the waiting vessels. From the beginning they had made their intentions clear. They would take those willing to go first and then the rest would be taken systematically by force. Everyone who has been part of the leaving, so far, has gone voluntarily. This willingness to sacrifice themselves so others could remain has given me a renewed faith in humanity. Never in the span of human history had all the people of the world come together like this, with a common goal, a common sacrifice. And through this faith I recognize the hope I had thought lost.
As we near the entrance to the vessel, I look to the man at my right, then the woman to my left. We each instinctively reach for the others hand. With fingers locked, hand in hand, as brother and sister, we step aboard and leave this world behind.
My last breath is a breath sweet with the belief that those who remain will come together and find a way. All they need is a little more time.
This will be my final post at Morality Park. I would like to thank everyone who has supported my work at the park, there are a lot of great writers and readers here and you are all appreciated. The Stories in Between
MORALITY PARK 