Till the Mountains Turn to Dust (The Chronicles of Eridia)
Page 20
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T-mail transmission:
From: Solace Tenant
To: Reynard Fuggs
June 23, 6692; 9:23 AM:
Good morning, Reynard Fuggs!
Ha, I didn’t know you had a last name, either.
Or do you? Is this a pseudonym? Mine is. Kind of. It’s based on my real surname: 10-NT. Yes, back in Interon, my technologically advanced home reality, we had computer-assigned names composed only of numbers and letters. It was functional but lacked poetry. I suppose in a way that’s why I’ve always found poetry and art in general so fascinating—it’s the opposite of the rather sterile culture I grew up in.
I must say, I’m surprised to learn that you yourself have an interest in the arts-and-entertainment field. Juggling? I never would have guessed, but I love it! Tell you what: if you juggle flaming torches for me, I’ll share some of my embarrassing poetry with you. Deal?
As for what happened in Shandar all those years ago: It is indeed water under the bridge. Times change. People change. The past is gone. The future has not yet come. Now is the only time there is.
So let’s enjoy now.
More about me? Why? Do you need to sleep? Honestly, I’m not very interesting. Sometimes I volunteer at various local charitable organizations. I help house the homeless and feed the hungry. But I don’t consider that a big deal, and certainly not worth talking about. It’s what any right-thinking person should do. I only look forward to the day when it’s unnecessary, when the governments realize that society should be structured to take care of people who need it. To bring everyone up instead of pushing everyone down. After all, why else did we invent government? I’m glad the general trend of Eridian government is heading in that direction, though I have concerns about the URWA becoming too powerful.
It’s interesting, isn’t it, to talk about trends and suchlike when you get to watch them unfold over thousands of years? It makes me a little sad for all the people who don’t live more than eighty or ninety years. How little they see.
Then again, much of what I—and no doubt you—see is just repetition. Or at best, themes and variations. Immortality is both a blessing and a curse. Like most things, I guess.
Just for making me talk more about boring old me, you’ll have to tell me even more about you.
—solace