Remember Us

It’s supposed to be a way to celebrate. A sinister, tragic ritual turned solemn and reverent with the passing of time. The lack of reference makes this sacrifice less barbaric and more humane. What's one more cup of blood when so much has already been spilt?

We stand in silence and remember. Even a child, in a crying mothers arms, knows to be still. An elderly man clasps his weathered hands in front of him and silently weeps. Each of us has a story of our own. Someone they instinctively remember. Someone they watched bleed. Someone they miss. A hundred years can't wash away the memories, the stories, the imprint of a lost society.

Later there will be virtual balloons and fireworks as the space crafts fly over. There will soon be sparkler candies and new whistler toys, but for now the whole new world watches in silence as we reenact the beginning our race. We are the clone race, the second chance the earth never could have, the recreation of that blood that was lost. As our old blood cries up from the dust we hear it call: "Remember us."