A tribute story to Ray Bradbury.
A tribute to Ray Bradbury
The sky of Mars was shining into an aurora borealis of reddish and yellow colors. Under its glittering chromatic display a festive melody went up and down over the distant hills, echoing into crevices of ancient and quiet fossil seas, standstill on the martian surface for ever. In every single town or village, small and long figures, covered by reflectant robes, were gathering, impatients and excited with the imminence of the huge event.
― He is arriving now, I bet you -said a hope-faced martian.
― If it is not another cry wolf.-said another a bit more skeptical.
― The Council assures that this time the passing is real -added a third one.
― What does the passing is? -inquired a little one.
― It means you don't need any shape and you can move freely -replied another voice.
Steadily, the whispers went quieting throughout the whole planet, and the music started a quick declining until become a deep and imperceptible tune that remained pulsing through the rarefied air. The moment was approaching... He was there. The figure who generation after generation had been spoken to them into their dreams, from a blue and distant world , where strange green jungles and vast crystal cities were always raising and falling, alongside one another, was about to show up among them once for all. The first Martian. The first of them. Ancient as the oldest ocean of Mars. Expected as the first son of the planet and its first Artificer. From his dreams he had talked to them every night, for thousands and thousands years -which could have been only a couple of minutes or hours to him, about the lanscapes and cities that were coming, about the hopes and wishes they could wait for. He had named them and given a name.
Now he was there. They would see him landing, in the most unutterable joy rapture, already divorced from the grieving that his departure was causing on that blue world which he didn't belong to anymore. Here he was been waited. To recognize him as an equal. To hear his word about the days that are coming. To call him for his name: Rye.