Music. Ronald took me into the nature, though not very far from Father's house. Just into foliage that shrouds Father's building and keeps it hidden, keeps us safe. Brother Ronald led me around, curving, and displayed to my curious eyes the dent left in soil from where the cage is kept underground. The grass sinks in slightly steeply, and my Brother warned me not to step on top of this indent. It may collapse, but we only wished to take safety precautions.
Music. He played a song for me. No, he did not play a song for my ears, rather he transmitted the data into me. A music I have not heard before, upbeat, happy as I was prier to this day...Yet longing, but not with sorrow and frustration. A positive longing, dreaming, hoping. Imagining what could be, possibly. What is it they were hoping, hmm? Love is the word I have heard but have not felt. In the music I heard the word many times. Teenager in Love, it was titled. Perhaps I can summon the music for you.
Ronald called me this. A "teen ager". He defined this for me to understand. He says this "teen ager" is "the bridge between a child and an adult". I ask if I am an adult soon, but he turns this down. "You will not be one for a while, kid. Actually, you might even be just a preteen now." A preteen? Perhaps the bridge between a child and a "teen ager"? Hmm?
Ronald claimed he has knowledge of how to program the song to a being. He claims he has programmed himself with music, and I had laughed when he attempted to prove this to me. He had made an awful noise like pain. Laughter is fun, contagious. Ronald laughed too, each of us still holding the bitter, rough sound we always do in the building. Laughter. It still does not change what has developed, programmed itself into our souls and bodies by itself over these past years in Father's house. In the cage. We, Ronald and I, we spoke of its influence. He says it, the building, is not much different from the cage once he had listened to my words. The influx of corpses, practically shipments wheeled in every day and night, yet never acknowledged. The smell of rot, vomit and bile. The smell of death, and the silence that meets as a response to our questions. Never given answers. He knows why our voices are gravel, why our faces are pale and distressed, dotted with tiny specks of dirt that will never wash away. Why our hair is colored of dead grass, like the sun when it has lost its color. Why both our eyes are a pair, the dead embers of a flame.
We, the Siblings and Ronald and I, differ greatly from those who oppose. But only outside these walls can we transfer this information to one another. This data that has been kept aside to save from a lashing. We have a similarity I am now aware of, we still survive in ways we have adapted to. We do not run, and yet we still hide as you do, although not physically. When Ronald spoke to me, he did understand why they lack emotion, the Siblings. They are not human. They may be titled "Proxies","Agents". No matter, we know they are nothing but Hallowed, despite how anyone may put that statement. They were. They are. But somehow we are not. And they cannot understand this.