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Words began to scroll across the panel, providing a real-time translation - http://edublogs.org/?s=real-time%20translation . Something about their tone seemed oddly distant, as though coming from afar. I have been caused to fall. But again I shall rise! The tone of the singers was firm, resolute. Defiant, even. It was almost like a call to action, but Hownid dismissed the thought as she reached for her mug. Such strength no longer resided within her. The words reappeared; the lyrics repeated, with no lessening in the urgent tone of the voices. Again it called to her, and again Hownid shrugged them off, deliberately squashing even the tiniest rays of hope and cheer that dared to surface within her as she had done many times before. Again the lyrics cried out to her, urging her to stand up, to rise from where she had fallen, to shake off her sadness. But she could not. She must not. Her squadmates would not want her to cease mourning, to find joy where they could not…would they?

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Had the singer changed? They sang again, repeating the brief statement, but try as she might Hownid could not quite fathom what this might mean. So many beverages listed. But what were they? She didn’t even know if it mattered. Pleasant moments. It had been a long while since she had had one of those. The thought dimly dawned on Hownid that this sadness she carried was, perhaps, weighing her down. When had she last sung anything? All the preferable moments were in the past. Everything that was good in her life had ended. She breathed deeply, trying not to let how much the realization hurt show on her face. The softer-sounding singer called out, repeatedly, for a young man named Daniel. Her heart broke as, bidden by the song that seemed to know herself better than she did, she remembered Daneel. Sweet, small Daneel. Squadmate. Friend. The tiny glimmer that might have grown into something more than friendship, had the awful calamity never occurred - http://www.futureofeducation.com/main/search/search?q=occurred . Then, stronger than before, the call of the singers began anew. I have been caused to fall. But again I shall rise!

Again and again the words came, pushing against the mental barriers Hownid had placed to protect herself against the sheer pain of feeling. She could sense them, the unknown people, calling out to her to change herself, to open up, to live again. Hownid, for a long time, had not wanted that. To live was to be in pain. To be in pain was to grieve. To grieve was to hold the memory of her fallen friends with her, clutching the hollow heavy stone of sadness to her chest like a lifeline and a curse. A burden and a comfort. To let go of that sadness that had become a natural part of her felt like letting go of her squad’s memory. If she chose to open up as the singers urged her to, it would hurt in a different way. It would let the jagged truth of her experiences wash over her, let the loss solidify into aching veracity, and then bring about a sense of healing. She would lose the constant aching reminder of her grief, and her squad deserved better than to be forgotten.