Processing

from fury to flickers

The battle does not rage anymore, not for many years. But it does continue on despite the waning energy. This war of attrition was stacked before a foot touched battered grounds. No matter how hard one yells, how much sweat poured down pounding temples, there was no true way to come out of this war unscathed.

Enter inside and one would see generals barking orders in one corner only to be dismissed. Years of being yelled at has proven to beat down a soldier to their death. Yet the verbal lashings continue, even if becoming distant. Their fire remains kindled as they are ever ready to take action when no other parties last.

A spirit with its hazy outline remains, but only just. She sits in a slump, holding her knees to chest like the only thing holding her together. Chaos a hurricane around her. Entrapped in its vortex she tucks her down head as the storm batters and swells.

Any doo dad meant as a warning signal flickers instead of flashes. Some mechanic, desperate and sweaty, bounces from one station to the next in search of where the issue is centered. How much can one person fix in a world that is not meant for them? Reality and fantasy blur in what tasks can be undertaken. But no matter, the alarms will be handled.

Behind some curtains sit a little star. Bright and beautiful it remains hidden from greedy eyes. Being a bright star can be dangerous and can drain the energy from the most precious of beings. People often misuse their first wish when they lay their eyes upon the star. "Save me" it whispers, too afraid and unsteady to shine again.