The city perched at the very edge of the cliff, as it had done for almost four thousand years. Of course it wasn't the same as it had always been - the residents had a Thing about "resurrecting" their entire city every five hundred years and throwing everything old over the cliffside to be used by whoever dwelled by the lake far down below.
They had no idea who, if anyone, lived there but they assumed they were doing their unseen neighbours a good deed by sharing their resources in such a liberal, no strings attached sort of way and so regularly too. At least, they thought it was regular, after all even their records were thrown over, in case keeping it counteracted the resurrectional aspect of the old tradition.
In a way they were doing themselves a world of good and unknowingly isolating their city from everything and everyone that wasn't a bird or insect. The sheer mass of material tossed down the steep cliffside had blocked off the only possible passage up to them and given its incredible instability the chances of anything heavier than a few dozen grams making its way up the blockade of rubble was highly unlikely.
This started on purpose.
Four thousand and seventy six years ago everyone began to have almost the exact same dream. Shadowy figures at their windows, phantom infants crawling over their bedsheets and spewing maggots from rotting lips. After a painful month of this, the shadowy figures began to say one word over and over again. Not everyone could hear it, some infants cried louder than others, but those that did hear it all swore they were saying "renewal, release, relapse".
In their sleep deprived state they took it to mean that they had to make their homes anew and alter every aspect of their lives, right down to their names and mannerisms so that the nightmare things would get confused and head somewhere else.
It may have worked eight times so far but there was no guarantee that it would always be that way.
Just like their town, everything has to change at some point.
Sometimes sooner than later.
They had no idea who, if anyone, lived there but they assumed they were doing their unseen neighbours a good deed by sharing their resources in such a liberal, no strings attached sort of way and so regularly too. At least, they thought it was regular, after all even their records were thrown over, in case keeping it counteracted the resurrectional aspect of the old tradition.
In a way they were doing themselves a world of good and unknowingly isolating their city from everything and everyone that wasn't a bird or insect. The sheer mass of material tossed down the steep cliffside had blocked off the only possible passage up to them and given its incredible instability the chances of anything heavier than a few dozen grams making its way up the blockade of rubble was highly unlikely.
This started on purpose.
Four thousand and seventy six years ago everyone began to have almost the exact same dream. Shadowy figures at their windows, phantom infants crawling over their bedsheets and spewing maggots from rotting lips. After a painful month of this, the shadowy figures began to say one word over and over again. Not everyone could hear it, some infants cried louder than others, but those that did hear it all swore they were saying "renewal, release, relapse".
In their sleep deprived state they took it to mean that they had to make their homes anew and alter every aspect of their lives, right down to their names and mannerisms so that the nightmare things would get confused and head somewhere else.
It may have worked eight times so far but there was no guarantee that it would always be that way.
Just like their town, everything has to change at some point.
Sometimes sooner than later.
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