“Da-dah!” Tears threatened.
His mother: “Hush.”
Daddy meant others, civilization: serpent-filled gardens.
“Hush, darling. Mommy’s here. Always.” The last a lie. Nobody remains always. “Even to the end of the age.” That much was true. History ended; she remained.
“Mo-muh?” Pause. “Da-dah.” Sad still, but tearless. Good enough.
“Rest, beloved. Please.”
She tucked him to her neck. The island was a wave-rocked womb. Uncharted, homey.
“I know,” she said—and did.
But to go back was to face—well. You know, or think you know. History’s epilogue.
She stared unblinkingly, towards distant shores.