Author : Russell Bert Waters
Amah had always held her close and sang to her.
She always felt secure in Amah’s arms.
She didn’t want this to become a memory.
The winds shrieked fiercely one night as Amah was taken from her; taken from them all.
She was told to hide, and it was the hardest command she ever obeyed.
She could hear the thuds of a struggle, muffled screams, more thudding, then nothing.
The wind grew louder, leading her to believe Amah’s captors had left the hatch ajar.
She had seen these beings before.
They wore odd garments to protect them from the ice and cold.
She had seen their brutality, and overheard tales in hushed tones that she wasn’t supposed to hear; tales of entire families, sometimes entire neighborhoods, disappearing.
She heard tales of perpetually burning pits, stoked with bodies.
Pits with laughing invaders standing around them, wearing those queer outfits.
Amah was with these beings now; her sweet Amah who sang to her.
“The moons, dear child, will be your guide
Into the arms of sleep you’ll glide
Forever in my warm embrace
Forever safe, and full of grace
Sleep, dear child
Rest your head
Sleep, dear child
In your cozy bed”
Amah’s voice was a flower blossoming in her ears.
She was young, and would likely fail, but she would not forsake Amah by not trying something, anything, to bring her back from these callous beings who lacked compassion.
The winds were always howling, a product of the machines that had begun littering the landscape after these beings arrived.
The atmosphere was adjusting to major changes, and it was hard to sleep, to talk, to think.
Amah would soothe her, and sing to her, and, in those moments, there was no wind, there were no
disappearances, there was only the sweet face of her mother, her sweet song in the air.
She stood now, looking down from an icy outcropping of rocks.
Below her was one of those damnable machines, and, a ways from that, one of the domed settlements that had cropped up seemingly overnight all over Europa.
This was a rare night, in that she could clearly see Jupiter looming large in the distance.
The sun she shared with the homeland of her invaders was small and distant, but tonight everything lined up just right to where she could clearly see the path she would take to free her Amah; or die trying.
She could hear voices below, and she could see the trailer that likely contained Amah, and many others, approaching a large hangar.
The knife her father had given her, that he had created out of sharpened rock, sinew, and bones from one of the large, flightless, birds that lived in the hills, was steady in her hand.
She knew the terrain blindfolded.
She could weather the cold without the aid of insulated garments.
The howling winds would help her with the element of surprise.
Succeed or fail, she would hear Amah’s voice once more.
“The moons, dear child, will be your guide” she sang softly to herself, feeling courage wash over her.
She began her swift and graceful descent, hopping from rock to rock.
She came upon the first sentry, plunging her father’s knife into him before he even knew he wasn’t
“Into the arms of sleep, you’ll glide” she continued singing.
Her stride never slowed as she approached the hangar bay.
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