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A Forgotten Purpose

They walked slowly through the night. It was just the two of them, the way it always was. It was dark and growing cold. Dew clung desperately to the long grass. Their bare feet were blue and chilled. They didn't know they were cold. They didn't care.

Then their feet were stilled. A fire was swiftly built. Smoke curled up through crystal air. Cracks were made in the frozen night sky. Peace was shattered.

They drew thin blankets around their emaciated bodies, sitting as close to the flames as possible. Pieces of paper were drawn out, retrieved from pockets and blanket folds. Ripped photos and tattered pages were scrutinized carefully in the fire's light. Words were brought together. Some were rough, uneven and lost. Others fit smoothly together, making sense of the senseless.

Broken pencils scratched meaning and purpose into the pages of two, small and very worn notebooks. Some words were spoken softly aloud. All were compared, analyzed or simply copied. There was a sharing, a burning curiosity and an insatiable desire to know more of what had been long forgotten.

When every word was printed into the two, small notebooks and also printed forever into their two, small minds the evidence was quickly destroyed. Pieces and scraps were hurriedly shoved into the fire, where they blackened, shriveled and disappeared. Words that might never be seen again. Notebooks were securely hidden in safe places for future nights.

A hand shaking from exhaustion was placed on the other's goose bumped flesh. Wrapped and twisted in blankets, the two, thin bodies lay together. Both needing the extra warmth and small comfort proximity could provide.

The fire died. Heavily lidded eyes stared up through the trees. The stars, though distant, were all accounted for.

All too soon the dawn came. The only benefit being the slow warming of earth and air. Sunlight fell haphazardly through leaf and branch. The two stretched and yawned simultaneously. The remains of the fire were scattered and their blankets gathered up. It was time to leave. Time to pretend that letters and words did not exist. Time to find food for others. Time to seek survival.

They walked slowly through the forest, hand in hand. It was just the two of them. The way it always was. Their faces were wrinkled and worn. Their eyes downcast. But now there was a subtle change, an almost indiscernible lightness in their step. They walked with hidden purpose, a quickened resolve.

They never made it back to camp. Men jumped from behind trees. Young men with guns. One held a knife. The old man and woman were thoroughly searched. A pencil as well as an overlooked piece of paper were soon found. Blood was spilled. A scream silenced.

The two, thin bodies lay together. Their skin was blue and chilled but they didn't know they were cold. They didn't care. They didn't move. They didn't breathe. They never looked up again.

Some of the memories were rough and uneven, while others flowed smoothly together, making sense of the senseless. The small notebook had been brought to him by a questioning child. What was it? What did it mean? A thin smile cracked the face of the tiny, aged man. He remembered words. He remembered why they were there.

He sat the child next to him and began to read. When the sun went down and his eyes failed him they got up. They went in search of wood to build a fire. They walked with a certain lightness. They walked with a hidden purpose. For the first time, the little child walked with hope, at his grandfather's side.

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