The City's True Name 12; The City That Only Kids Can See

            The City That Only Kids Can See

            Sogwa whispered,“Tomorrow,” and the portal opened up all the way. She stepped through, and it sealed shut behind her.

            The portal opened at the sound of the City’s true name; though, as Grandma Marge had pointed out, it has many names. “The Future, Posterity, After My Time,” she had said, “all these names are true! And do you see why only kids can see such a City?”

            “Yes,” Sogwa had said quite meekly, to blue-glowing, see-through Grandma Marge.

            Grandma Marge had smiled, and she’d said, “The specific name you need is ‘Tomorrow’.”

            “Tomorrow?” Sogwa had marvelled.

            “In my case, no exaggeration,” Grandma Marge had noted, “so it makes its point.”

            And indeed it did, for the portal opened, and Sogwa stepped through, into Chaos.

            Chaos was a storm-wind. It was like being blown, whirled, cast up and down and up again, through three twists and a fourth, sucked dizzily through an infinite spiral. All was in chaos, and chaos was in all.

            Chaos was turbulent, yet calm. Moving, it rested. Chaos was, and chaos was not. Chaos was formless and void; neither light nor darkness was on the face of the deep.

            But Liberty was there; and the spirit of Liberty passed over the sea of chaos.

            And Liberty said, “Let there be light.”

            And there was light.

            Why, you ask? How did she do it? What is the secret of her creative power?

            I shall tell you.

            You see, there is no secret to her creative power. There’s no secret because it isn’t power. Liberty did not command; she permitted. She let there be light.

            Liberty allowed the light; thus it arose spontaneously. Blessed be Liberty!

            There was light, so Sogwa opened her eyes. She looked around and saw that she was in bed, in her bedroom, and it was morning.

            A ray of golden sunlight beamed flat across the room and lit a young girl, stirring in bed though still asleep. Sogwa pounced on her and padded all over her chest, saying, “Mew, mew! Wake up, it’s morning! Mew, mew! It’s morning, it’s tomorrow, wake up, Hannah, wake up!”

            That’s the story that Sogwa told me last night, and now I’ve told it to you.

The  End