// is there someone out there? a conversation between my six-year old self & my mother //
There is a solemn silence in this place. My six-year old self looks around, attempting to understand the logic placed behind this. This, this place - it's nothing more than a prison. A prison in which songs are sung, water is used as if it was created to be a soul cleanser, and absolute power is given to a faceless source. A source which has many forms. Forms that are incapable of being regarded as human. My six-year old self looks to the front. People are crying. Why are they crying? My six-year old mind rushes to images of the day my beloved cat passed away - perhaps they've lost their Gizmo too? No. "They are crying with joy". Joy? Surly joy is experienced with smiles and laughter, my six-year old mind wonders - not tears and sorrows? "Joy" my mother simply replies. "For you see" she begins - "they hav-" she stops - "where do you think Gizmo has gone?" "In the ground to nap forever" She smiles "You r...
