[Writing] The Knowledge

     Time is short in this world, for people like me.
     When I was a young boy, people would tell me that I had potential. They would say that I was born with a gift from god. I would just say, "Thank you," and go about my business. These days, if someone were to say the word "God" aloud, they would no longer have the tongue to say much else.
     Humans are such a paranoid, fickle people. We follow the masses, and will unquestioningly follow a mass belief. I've never thought this way, and sometimes I wonder what it feels like. Don't take what I say wrongly, I am not a bitter man. I just have certain... reservations toward the ebbs and flows of human nature. Forgive me if I'm not making sense. Sometimes my mind tends to extend it's proboscis, and suckle at whichever thought is ripest.
I'll give you an example.
     Once as a child, during a daily lesson, I asked the Hew and the scholars a question that I'd been mulling over. I stood and asked them, "If those of us chosen to receive The Knowledge are considered saints, then what chance do ordinary people have of living a fulfilling life?"
     It was a simple question, yet the word "rhetoric" hadn't yet entered into my childish vocabulary. The other khind laughed, but I could sense the unease in their chortling. The Hew, who never spake as much as a syllable most days, shuffled in his seat, and without raising his cataract-ridden eyes to meet mine, simply said, "What an ego this one has, to assume that The Knowledge will give him a full life."
     I simply stood there for a while, unaware of my surroundings. I realized the other khind were packing their things and leaving for the day, and snapped myself out of whatever trance I had lapsed into.
None of the other khind wanted to talk to me much after this.
     It seems funny thinking about this day, now. I haven't seen another khind in years, and probably am all the more well-off because of it. Like I said, people like me aren't long in this world. The closer we are to one another, the truer that statement rings.
     Ah, but the box rings! I always know exactly when it will chime, but I'm always surprised at the tone when it arrives. Such a sweet sound. Nothing like it left in this droll place. The Hew was usually a right geeb, but he said it best when he commented, "The cup of youth has always been pressed to our lips, and truly it is the music."
I found the box when I was on my Pegamine...
     No, wait. I had better start a bit farther back. After those blighted fool hame discovered the evidence of a Godless universe, the people began burning every scroll and tome that held "false" knowledge. Huh, thinking back, its humorous how people moan and complain about the flow of time, yet dive headlong into it screaming, "adapt or die," the whole way down. Forgive me yet again, I get beside myself.
     All recorded speakings of The Knowledge were built into massive pyres, and the holy symbols were all etched over. It was only a matter of time before the hame realized they would never really be free of the old way until The Knowledge was fully eradicated. We khind, as living vessels, decided it would be best if we fled before the idea made it through their thick hame skulls.
     Thus, the Khindel was disbanded, the scholars gathered as much of the records that they could. They told us khind  that we were to take up our minds, and our minds alone, and go into hiding. This was the last word of our God, the "Old God," and was called the Pegamine. I hear tell that the Hew was flayed, his body burned, and his bones dipped in acid, as to prevent anyone from ever finding him again. I'm sure they would do nothing like that to children, though. Right?
     The box was found on my eighth week in Pegamine. I had traveled through the cliffs for what seemed like days without sleep, and by chance (I was too frightened by this time of miracles to call it otherwise) happened upon an old, bleached-wood dwelling. I could smell the dust before I entered, and knew that this place had been abandoned for longer than my days. The only items of any worth left inside were a few water skins, a half-filled tin of snuff, and the box. I didn't know what the box was at first, but I could swear that I heard something far down inside of it, crackling like a camp fire. Try as I might, I couldn't get it open. I consulted The Knowledge, yet still came up with no answer. I packed it into my bag, and arranged some tattered blankets into a ragged cot, as to bed down for the night.

     I had begun to fade into that ethereal state that us khind go to when we dream, when suddenly I was jarred awake by a sound that was completely unrecognizable to my ears. In one swift moment, I simultaneously knew I was going to die, knew it was going to be horrible, and yet would welcome it if only I could hear that sweet, droning sound for eternity. I sat up, blinked my eyes, searched for the source, but saw nothing to be afraid of. It was simply the box, tucked into my pack and singing its strange molten tune.
     Once I had the box out in the open, it took me a few seconds to realize that its polished surface was humming a bit, and shedding a small amount of warmth. It had not yet become full light, but I somehow knew that it was time for me to move on. I gathered the things I found in the house, and made my way south. After a few more weeks, I got to know the box's timing, and grew to anticipate that glorious melody each time it approached. Though it only lasted at most five minutes, those were the best times of my Pegamine. The worst time was soon to follow.
     One morning, I was walking along the rocks, waiting for the box to begin singing, when I lost my footing and slipped on the smooth face of a boulder. My leg shot out from under me, and I came down hard on my left knee. The pain was excruciating, and when I summoned the courage to look down at it, It was the size of an eggplant, with the hue to match. I began to taste copper, and felt the world begin to blur around me. I slapped my face hard, and somehow my vision began clearing. It was at this time that I noticed the red banner approaching from the valley. A poaching party. They somehow knew where I was, and were coming after me. I began trancing into The Knowledge to find an answer to my misfortune, but before I was fully under, I heard a scream. I turned my head toward the sound, and there, in the valley below, I saw something I will never forget.
     The poachers had been tracking a khind along the basin, and had finally caught up with him. The khind had decided that if he were going to be free of them, he had to make an attack. I don't know what he gleaned from The Knowledge, if anything, but he had greatly underestimated their number. He came out from a shallow outcropping of rock, and smashed a decent-sized stone over the top of the flag-bearer's head. A sound like paint being slung at a tarpaulin followed, and for what seemed like minutes, all was silent.
     Things happened fast. One of the poachers swung his pistola toward the khind, just as the rock-slinger bent to re-arm himself. The shot was loud, but not as loud as the scream that followed. The pellet went through the khind's knee, and I subconsciously glanced at mine and saw that it was still swollen and nearly black. The gunman ducked to refill his pistola, and another of the poachers jogged over to the khind and cut both of his achiles' tendons. I stifled a shout, and tears began to blot my vision. The poachers were smiling, and the contrast of the grins and the screams nearly drove me mad.
     The poacher with the knife was preparing to flay the khind, and save his skin for a trophy. I slammed my eyes shut. I was waiting for the death wails, and for a second I thought that the khind's screaming sounded very familiar. That's when I realized that the box had begun it's ritual of singing out for all around to hear.