Lantern Marsh

I finally arise. The town lies outstretched in its wake the utter stillness I was part of. My memory faintly recalls life beyond this town, but nothing concrete, as if it were a desert devoid of water.

I look around.

The nearest building has a broken lantern hanging solemnly in the darkness of the dying sun; its purpose had wavered over time, leaving shadow. I see…that this building is an old house. Someone used to live here, perhaps me.

A winding trail moving across the former town square leads me onwards. What lies beyond?

Memory failing me, I follow it to a building whose rooftop was partially caved in, revealing books. The old library – but no memories return, just the usual meandering. A lingering fear hangs in the air, never able to fade; it holds inertial mass, even against the fabric of time. From here hangs another broken lantern, likewise fixated in its situation. Along its perimeter I move, seeking something to catch my eye.

I feel a chill. The wind gently sweeps in, a breeze that gives the slightest nudge amidst stifling. The debris is in place, not swayed by any interaction. This place once had life – this aspect was the most gripping.

My expectations fail. The library sits silently, barring the tattered curtains fluttering on the barely shifting air. Scarcely they move yet still they remain the only other source of action. Entranced I watch them. I force my gaze downwards and manage to walk past it.

Many buildings bear similar signs of desecration, of aging, as if they had simply grown old and withered in resentment and inaction. The death present in the air is continuous yet memory quietly protests; it’s locked in something barely describable due to lack of realization. The path leads to the answer…the only one within reach.

Past the sea I move; towards the creek that feeds into it, towards what lay beyond. The town falls behind as a new panorama stretches out. Wind physically remarks upon the shadowed realm. Nearly silent water ripples calmly, the marsh water otherwise hidden by thick grass. At its edge I sit, struggling to remember. The waters keep swirling.