Again

There was a great stir in my land. A soft green land surrounded by hard unforgiving bister. At its heart was the sweetest liquid that glistened and never ran dry. My land was beautiful and my masters were kind. But then came the great upset. Along the masters’ wall and beneath the fig were babes who lay stiff. As their kin cried, they came to us on the green. The gray of mine became distressed but those who were young like me did not know enough to fear. “Paeniteo,” my masters whispered into each other’s ears. I pushed forth, eager to see why so many had come to the green. One of their young, about my age in knowledge and wisdom, stood in front of me. In his eyes, he reflected my same uncertainty and in his hands he held ribbons of red. “Paeniteo,” they cried louder and there was no escape for me. Ribbons decorated my body. Bloody ribbons. They did not understand. I did not understand. They sent me past the wall and off the green. So far away that I could no longer smell life or taste its sweetness in the air. I was left on the scalding bister that I had always considered a world away. I was left alone. Alone with only five colors in this world. The blue of the sky, the white of the sun, the burnish ground, the ribbons of red, and the gray of my coat. Alone I remained. I walked hours upon hours driven by instinct to find sustenance and salvation. Heat pushed my body down with the weight of the sun and on my knees I fell to the hard ground. My body began to burn at the first touch of the burning, hating land. I could not get up. The colors bled to a color I had never seen before. It was a gray grayer than my coat. I cried, trying to remember the blue of the sky, the blue of water. But all I could see was a lone red ribbon in front of me, not even the ground beneath it. “Paeniteo,” I wept and understood what it meant. Hate. Misery. Deceit. Cowardice.

Death.

After the colors went away, the burning of my flesh became cool, and the weight of the sun lifted. It was done. “Paeniteo,” I heard them laugh. The world went darker than night and colder than winter. My anger began to softly settle and a gentle hand touched my nose.

“Little lamb, forgive me. They know not what they do.”

-Scapegoat