An Echo on the Wind

A cool breeze blew past the busy city of Neopia Central, swirling down, light and soft. The sun shone warmly, its gentle rays brightening the lighthearted day. The streets of the city were littered with laughing pets and petpets. Such a child’s storybook picture, so ignorant of reality. Watching, high up in the sky, above the soft clouds, the Ghost Lupe drifted on a light wind. He stared blankly down into the city, too weary of the busy world, which seemed to go on without him, half dragging him along, yet leaving him behind. His smoky red eyes were sad, as they for always had been.

      A cloud drifted to block the warm sun from view. Winged petpets soared below, chasing each other in the crisp morning air. Wild faeries’ laughter from the woods was audible for miles around, and humans and pets alike laughed as they bartered for the best bargain. It was a beautiful day... so clear and happy... laughter could be heard from all four corners of the earth... and... There was a smile on everyone’s face.

      Below in the streets, a pet started to scream. “Shhh...” crooned his owner into his ear. “There’s nothing to worry about.” Still frightened, not yet comforted, the pet said, “Miri! Miri! The Ghost Lupe’s up there! I saw him!” The girl smiled at her pet, reassuring him best as she could before sending him back to play. The specter’s presence was forgotten by the young pet before a minute was up. Squinting, the girl peered up at the sky, worry shining through her brown eyes for all she had laughed away the notion. There was nothing except the sun filtering through the white clouds, petpets soaring through the air with their owners, and the wind to move the clouds along. Besides, what had she to fear if the Lupe was overhead? He had never done anything necessarily... bad... had he?

      The specter relaxed his will, sighing. These people, they were so ignorant... So many had tried to figure him out. So many had tried and failed. He wondered why he was so intriguing. He was really just like everyone else... Completely unremarkable... Queer, really, how some got all the attention... How is history written? Just a large storybook... and most of it wrong. Sure, the facts are true, must be true, but the prejudices, the feelings, who do you side with? It depends on how you look at it. A hero of one tale could be the villain of another... A genius could be seen as a lunatic... So, circulating Neopia, instead of the truth, were outrageous tales; mad thinking, and not a shadow of the truth.

      He was... trying too hard to let the peace of the morning in, half dreaming, so bleakly grey, lost in his dark reminiscence as the gentle wind bore him east, out across to the sea. Unconsciously, he was steered to a small island, overgrown and deserted, long forgotten by the world. There was not a sound, no chirp of a Beekadoodle, no laughter of a faerie, not an echo of the racket of a cheerful pet. The only sound was the whipping of the howling wind sighing along with the murmuring of the ocean. He stared down at the forsaken island, his long forgotten homeland, a lonely, cold figure against the light blue sky. Why had he returned to this lonely place? Why had he returned... to his lost homeland...?

      Soon, his eyes narrowed, fighting against his own troublesome thoughts. But defenseless against his own mind, the specter was lost as bitter memories tore their way painfully into his thoughts, echoing, crying out, desperate, ever so much, to be heard. An inaudible keening escaped his mouth... His red eyes flashed back pain.

      Helplessly he tried to defend himself...But what way is there to defend yourself against a person’s own thoughts? Frantic, he wanted to scream, but his voice stayed silent. Desperate was the call inside his mind. It wasn’t me! Please... It’s not my fault! Almost he thought he heard a sad voice...You must listen... Still am I sorry, my friend... Surrender... And remember the past... We do not want to remember, but still, the are there. Memories; so bittersweet, so dark, calling, they are always calling... so bitter, the hurt, but still our own... He fought back that desolate feeling of helplessness, hopeless against the odds. Lirienne, I am so sorry...

      As he stood there frozen, unable to move as he was tortured beyond relief, staring out at his homeland, a breeze started up, carrying with it, a song... a song of eternity, a sweetly ethereal sound. It was a diapason from the wind, the ocean’s singing. So beautiful a melody... wistful; sweet and sad. It was a choir of angels, the cry of echoes, the whispering of the winds, mournful, dismal... so angelically sad. Sweet it rang in the morning air, captivating, spellbinding, charm in its own sweet sadness.

“Never forget me,

Please don’t feel sad.

I know it’s been long,

But I remember you still.

What do you hear,

The wind blowing gently,

You hear,

An echo on the wind.

Bittersweet, our memories,

We live, and try to forget.

But never forget me,

So I’ll be with you still.

What do you hear,

The wind blowing gently,

You hear,

An echo on the wind.

Soar, on your wings,

Ever so higher,

Listen, my friend,

Live on, but never forget.

What do you hear,

The wind blowing gently,

You hear,

An echo on the wind.

For evermore, remember,

Though memories destroy.

The bad comes with good,

That is why you still live.

What do you hear,

The wind blowing gently,

You hear,

An echo on the wind.

Sweetly the echoes cry,

Sad, so sad.

Sing, your song for ever.

Golden times are waiting,

For you.”

      Above the island, the Ghost Lupe shivered at that sweet, sad, sound. He remembered that same sweet voice of an angel, that was so familiar, yet so strange to him. To hear her after... that... disaster which had ruined... everything, his home...his family, his friends. But it’s not my fault... He sighed, letting his weariness slide out of him. Finally, his troubled spirit was comforted, if only to a certain degree, because he had gone back - after so long! - to that dark scene where his memories had returned to haunt him. The breeze kicked up again, keening, whipping against the insubstantial figure. Smoky eyes sad, he glanced back towards the direction of the city, now too far to see. Forever I thank you, Lirienne...

      The long tortured soul looked out at his island, his home, sighing, smoky, as a fog came down, hiding the hazy figure of the Lupe. The waves lapped quietly on the sandy shore, a slight sprinkle of rain fell. In his mind, he heard an echo of the song, encouraging him, consoling. A half smile broke out on his face, almost like sunshine filtering through. So long it had been... ever so long. And he was running free, the island, forests and rivers, laughter streamed out of him; it seemed an eternity since it had last emerged. The winds whistled merrily after his running form. Still... The fact was there, almost impossible to ignore... The island... his home, his family, gone... they were all gone... But it was not his fault.

What do you hear,

The wind blowing gently,

You hear,

An Echo on the Wind.

The End