The Family (Creative Writing)
The Family A brilliant collection of records seared on a holographic film Kept hidden within vault and camouflage Repressed for a century, cornered upon soft walls Chilled and masked, blanketed until winters end We’ve piled high the snow and sandbags, growing weary of the sleepless nights, yet pushing forward ‘til dawn breaks and our fear turns back. As if to greet us, congratulate our survival, the sunlight leans forward to reveal our newborn lives and worlds, each individually grateful to be welcomed. A thin mist follows the new light, lazily grazing as it comes. A sharp gash in a window raises alarm, as we are reminded of the risks in exposing ourselves to the outside. The unknown is feared in these times, and fear is our only hope to finding the new light once more when dusk fails. I observe the women straining with absent mind, arms heavy for our family, they bring supplies, foods, and the blocks of life up hills, through deserts and from stream to ocean, glacier and