She floated through time and
space unwillingly searching for
the wormhole to paradise. She didn't
find it, however she crashed onto a
small planet. This small planet was but
docile and comely. The roots of trees
intertwined themselves into the rich soil.
The leaves towered high, as if they
were trying to reach the gods themselves.
The insects sang songs of prosperity and joy,
ignorant to the dead celestial beings
surrounding their home. She didn't know places
like this still existed. She heard the old
tales, but still she believed her eyes
were lying to her.

Her home, if one could call it, had black
sorry skies. She grew up never knowing green,
for the soil had it's life sucked out, scoop it
up and it would turn to ash and dust. She grew
up not knowing trees, not knowing songs, but
grew up knowing only whimpers of the past. She
reached adolescence knowing only the hard
labor of keeping her mouth shut while the
warden hollered and edged them back to work.

She walked the planet for 40 days and 40 nights
until throwing herself back into the cosmos. She
observed all the different species of trees and
learned all the songs of the insects; she caressed
every leaf. She floated back to her place of origin.
She didn't speak of the paradise for which she
witnessed. She didn't sing songs. Instead, she went
back and into her mundane routine and back under the
warden's shadow.

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