Most of us won’t make it, and, even those of us who do -after so many years-, might as well be sacrificed during the final celebrations to honor the power of the Pharaoh. No one can tell. All I know is the ropes biting our flesh, the days, the merciless whip, the task at hand.
And one more thing: if there is any salvation for us, it surely won’t lay inside apathy. So I push, I push the best I can, taking my strength from inner, secret, miraculous places. Because I believe in a different state of things. I haven’t ever seen it, I probably won’t ever see it, but I believe. So I push.
Then suddenly comes the lift, the unexpected force; like a caress of iron, like the steady wing of an invisible eagle, taking me up, effortless, supernatural and yet somewhat familiar.
I wasn’t thinking about them, because I wasn’t thinking at all; but the others saw me, and they got ideas. I fed them. So I got fed.
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