It is a beautiful vista. One that stretches far and wide. Across what remains of existence. The boundary fields that separates what is still left of what earth was and the wasteland that is the outside. The empty acres that lie beyond the grey hued yonder.
It is a greenish blue sea of verdant grasses from which dreams and tales comes and beckons. It is a sight that calls for many but only answers to some.
I am one of those chosen, one of those born into service. I am a Keeper. One who watches and waits. Whose cluttered mind and weighty hand lie ever so slightly upon the thermonuclear trigger.
You see, the frontier is not a safe place. It hides dangers and signs. Way beyond norms and dictates. Where the rules and reality may not matter as much as belief and faith.
It is a quirky paradox of fate and the greatest joke ever played that ones who understood less about life are those destined to be the keepers and guardians of what life is.
It is a difficult existence, that I must admit. But to be the bulwarks that we are requires great sacrifices. It is just another one of many,an echo of how the needs of the many outweighs that of the one an only.
But I am just a man. The boundary knows that and it tries hard to work its way into my defenses. But this is where sometimes I understand the logic and knowledge that goes behind the appointment of Keepers.
We are watchers and observers. Those who know everything but does nothing. And in this way the elders seeks to defuse the boundary. You cannot tempt those who are afraid of that which is their purpose and calling.
For the gift of the boundary is one of dreams and possibilities. Its gift is life itself. Keepers as a rule, myself included. Are afraid of life. Such that we hide from it and may even destroy ourselves and everything and everyone around us, at the very hint of life approaching.
But the one assigned to me from the other side seems not to have it in her to give up. The guerrilla that tries to find a breach in the wall that falls under my watch and charge. The one that is trying to bring the taint of life into the sanctity of the last fortress on earth.
She sang to me again last night, the angel with the long green tresses. Who beckons from beyond the distance just outside of range for my sensor array to deliberate. She sings of many things all beyond the range of my AI Matrices to translate.
"Hope" is her name. A veteran of many battles. A slayer of many keepers. But I swear to remain ever steadfast. I shall soon drench my sector under a hail of nuclear warheads than betray my duty and calling.
I am a KEEPER and I shall remain steadfast. As long as I remain, the boundary shall remain sealed. I would rather die than be alive and tainted with 'life'.
