Gold

Gold. Gold was all he saw as they stepped into the palace, all the not-quite-yellow and shine making him dizzy. People of gold stepped through this palace, people of perfection, with golden teeth and golden eyes and bright gold faces. He looked down at his own skin and could not see the faintest shimmer of any gold at all.. He felt his hands move and felt the smooth leather, perfectly sewn and knotted together. He didn’t bother to try and rip it open, to yell to the gold outside. He didn’t bother to scream and cry and ask how long it had been since they found him. Since all the gold found him. He knew it made no difference. He knew that for sure.

The sky was a brilliant blue as he was carried outside in his bag. The only thing that wasn’t gold. For even the wind carried the faint gold glitters, if one looked closely enough. But he knew no one would. He had heard somewhere, before his imprisonment, of course, that great power can be easily achieved though undetectable influence, and applauded the wind with the hands he could not see. The world he could not see. The world he could not know. How could he though?

I feel bad for him, I do. He’ll never know that I’m like him, too. I am the person I could never see, just like my father before me. Why do they need us? Why will they not let us go? I must have ears if I can hear the wing slam into the post. I know only orders and have a singular aspiration of “living” and the paradox of hope. I want these things badly, I think so at least, and to do this I must carry his bag until we are free.

‍