94 lines
3.7 KiB
Plaintext
94 lines
3.7 KiB
Plaintext
REC ON
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TRN ON
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ENC ON
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SYS GOOD
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Entry 5 -- Sister Sara
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To all of my sisters,
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The Shedim are not afraid of us.
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There is no power short of Adonai which can hold them.
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The Utukku are safe behind the veil.
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Their Kings celebrate our suffering in the hidden lands.
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The Rabisu know they can feed upon us and live forever.
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Our struggles are nothing.
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The Jinn know their power and revel in it.
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But what is that sound echoing from afar, from the corners of our
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dusty rocks? The littlest sound, it is. Like a tinkle of a bell.
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My name was given for the laughter which never ceases. Can you
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hear it? It is the music that flows across our ship and stirs the
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hearts of my sisters.
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You cannot see the Jinn unless they wish it. The hidden folk may
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seem like men or they may seem like the animals of their true
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face. The dog snout and yellow teeth are no more fearsome than any
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other mask they show.
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When we were young and lived in mud and grass, their cathedrals
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were the stones of the mountain. When our cities rewrote the land,
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theirs floated across the sky. When we put our first step onto
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another world, they were guiding the stars. How could a face
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convey more fear in our hearts?
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The Shedim are made of smoke and fire and their world is the same.
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They see us as we see the beasts, for surely to them we must seem
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God's lesser creation. We splash about in our mud like swine. For
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millennia we fought our primitive fights. Even now we barely live.
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We amuse them, anger them, and sustain their endless days with our
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blood. We are nothing, and yet...
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The laughter flows from deep in my chest and it shakes my whole
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body. Some nights my eyes water and I cannot see, but the tears
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are not of sadness.
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Millennia! And only now, our small group will do what generations
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never imagined. They are the hidden folk, the Jinn, the Shedim,
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the Utukku. They are the vampyr and the demons. They have haunted
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our stories since fire drew us together. They torment us from the
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invisible places where we cannot see.
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And that is what's so funny. They gave us the idea, you see. And
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now they are the ones that do not see. When we come--when Hawwa
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speaks the word--I will not stop my laughter until each of them
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understands. I will see recognition in those canine eyes. Then,
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and only then, will the joke finally end.
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Oh my sisters, I could tell you my story like the others have
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done. I could tell you of my journeys and of my husband, now six
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years in the dirt. I could tell you of children who followed.
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I could give you the stories of pain and suffering and let you
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share the anguish and outrage that plagued my soul, but no.
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Share my laughter instead. It is not bitter. It hides no malice.
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It is pure chaos in the way that bridges pain and joy as only
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laughter can. Hawwa will speak the word soon, and... you'll see!
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Hah! You'll all see!
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Watch their faces, sisters, when it happens. My spirit will be
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there with each of you in the smiles that will bless your lips. My
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heart will fill your throats and you too will be Sara, then.
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Come, laugh with me at the hidden folk and their scary palaces of
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stars. Laugh at the dogs in their costumes. Hah!
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There was a legend from long ago, a set of stories that has become
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almost myth. They were whispered by children to one another in
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play. Each child in her own language, so well known they were. The
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phrases were memorized and repeated as we do with scripture today.
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Such eloquence and simplicity! You have, maybe, heard the way they
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all start for yourself? Even thousands of years later,
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incomprehensibly far from the land of our origin, in languages
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evolved through ages, unchanged--
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Knock, knock...
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