The banner nearly crumbled to dust in Kajj’s hand as he pulled it down from the walls of the banquet hall, the once vibrant orange colors turned a dull brown through the passing of the years. He could still make out the rich embroidery that had once glittered so cheerfully upon the walls, serving to muffle the booming laughter of Mother and his cohort and keep it from echoing into the vaulted ceilings. Now though, the gold had long since lost its luster, the ancient fabric barely more than a wisp.
He should have taken better care of the hangings.
He should have torn them down long ago.
He tossed it into the pile with the others, destined for the incinerator. What did it matter what trappings the banquet hall held these days anyway? Who was going to see them? These days, the halls contained only ghosts and their one living occupant.
Though sometimes he wondered if he truly counted as among the living.
He tore down banner after banner, rolled up the rugs, the pile near the center of the room heaping higher and higher until it surpassed even his own towering height, looming over him with the choking smell of dust and rotting fabric, a tumulus made of burial shrouds. As he worked, the echos became louder, the reverberation stronger until he could almost hear the echo of his breath, reflected back at him like the whispers of those who had long left these chilly halls behind.
Left him behind.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the emptiness of the room wash over him, letting the reflected whispers of his breath resolve themselves into something like company, remembering brighter days when he might have caught their voices, their whispers, back when this hall was bright and lively, back when the fabric of their lives was new and richly woven.
His throat was burning when he forced his eyes to open — a side effect, he told himself, of the dust he had kicked into the air, which the ventilation was still struggling to scrub. No matter. There was no time for sentimental feelings. No room for tattered hangings here in this place that had once been his home. He set his jaw and gathered up the fabric, marching resolutely towards the ship’s incinerator that would take care of the remains. It was nothing more than dust now, a hazard and an eyesore, taking up room, he reminded himself as he marched down the dormitory halls, keeping his gaze straight ahead rather than allowing himself to contemplate the doors that he passed, now just as dusted and rotting as the fabric in his arms.