Trench

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A group of older residents often told stories to the younger ones on the long Sunday nights after mandatory worship. Though Clancy wasn't usually considered part of the younger residents of Dema, he often found himself listening intently and losing himself in their words. They told of a fantastic place called home, full of warmth and happiness and ease. But when they were finished describing home, they told how this city was their home. Prior to finding that room and writing his thoughts, he had always accepted it, as it fit with the Bishops' claims that he belonged here. But now, Dema didn't feel anything like the storytellers' descriptions, and he longed to find a place like that.

He slipped into the room that Sunday and stayed in the back, hovering near the door as the younger inhabitants filtered in. The storytellers' audience had slowly decreased over the years, but he never failed to attend, and he hoped they'd never stop. Even though he didn't believe that Dema was his home, as they called it, he loved to learn about the idea. Perhaps if he learned enough, he would someday find that place for himself.

But today, he found his mind wandering, and he couldn't listen to a word they were saying. Their voices filtered in and out of his head before he could entirely process the words.

It had been three days since he'd written the first page of his journal, but he still couldn't keep his thoughts quiet. They invaded his every waking moment, and people were starting to notice. He wasn't supposed to be noticed. He wasn't allowed to be noticed. Only those who were Glorified deserved attention, and he wasn't ready - or worthy - for a privilege like that. Besides, no one from his sector had been Glorified in years.

There - he caught himself falling down another tangent. He shook his head slightly and tried desperately to focus on the story one man was telling, but it was near impossible. Now, he was thinking about the way his Bishop had looked at him during the Vialism lecture three days ago. His hidden expression was more than disappointed, but he couldn't quite remember it well enough to decide what it could have been. Perhaps it was just disappointment - maybe he had thought their sector had a chance to have a Glorified this year, and now that Clancy was more disruptive than ever, that chance had been ruined.

At least he had been kind. From what he had heard, the other Bishops could be ruthless. Out of the nine Bishops of Dema, Keons was kind and gentle, though he was firm and strict as well. It was a rather odd combination, and, as he'd written in his first journal entry, he had never met someone quite like him. He was grateful that he wasn't in another Bishop's sector. He'd heard stories of others like Lisden and Nills, who had a sort of anxious energy that entered the room with them, or Listo, who he'd heard often seemed as though he loved and cared for his inhabitants until someone acted out of line - and then he turned his back on them completely. Clancy wasn't sure he would be able to live in his sector. At least Keons had attempted to help him during the lecture.

And then there were Reisdro and Nico. He had heard from a second hand account that they were the most ruthless of them all. They hadn't given an explanation. They had only said that when anyone looked at either of the two, they froze in complete terror. Reisdro had a voice as loud as thunder that seemed to shake the buildings around him. Clancy had heard him speak at the last Assemblage. Nico, however, rarely spoke, but when he did, his voice was quiet, but cold and penetrating, and he shivered simply thinking about it.

Once again, he realized he was on another tangent, and once again, he attempted to draw his attention back to the storytellers. His thoughts whirled on without his consent, and he finally accepted that he would no longer be able to listen.

But then his ears heard a word that caught his attention. Banditos. He had heard the myths a few times before, and he wasn't sure why he'd suddenly latched on to this particular story, but somehow, he managed to focus on it without becoming distracted.