And so I walked. And walked, across that barren wasteland. Since I could do nothing else, I must listen and not think. I must be plain, be empty. Be as he was, as he told me to be. No thoughts, for thoughts lead to doubt and if I doubted him, then the chaos of the world would consume me. He will keep me safe, protect me. But I had to listen, had to feel the wind, the ash and dust beneath my feet, but I must not think. I must not imagine his hands on my skin, the brush of his lips against my throat. I thought about it then, when the sun was still a comfort and did not lash against the black earth. I felt him, his breath, his every heartbeat and made a mistake.
I thought, I wished and hoped for things that I knew could never be. In a world that had burned itself to ash. This was a place where the broken and the shattered survived. We are not perfect, we will prevail with hope a shadow on the horizon. The others, did not see, were blind to wants and petty things, to stolen kisses under starlight skies. Nobody could have predicted that the beautiful and gleaming gems would fall from the sky. They were soldiers, driving us back and breaking the lines so that the general, the real star, could make the final blow.
But I was thinking now and I must not. But it is hard, to not think about not thinking. Our thoughts explained us, defined us and kept us company on sleepless nights. They drove us to do great things and horrible things. Each, in their own mind, was perfect. A flawless gem in the cracked and frayed edges of society. But what made us unique? The color of skin was a layer of lies, the mind was the engine and we all needed power, over ourselves, over others. But, again I catch myself with thoughts, with doubts.
Here is were I stopped, bare feet sinking in the ash. I listened because I believed he could keep me safe and while that is only a half-truth, the bigger picture was that I was unique. In my own way, in the way I needed to be to myself, to keep going. We listened for comfort, for we do not believe ourselves to be capable of tending the garden. The reason the edges were frayed was not because of a broken society. It was, in itself, complete, whole and utterly unique. We as a people blurred the lines, to make it easier for ourselves. Because that was the only way we could comfort ourselves.
I did not hear the cock of the gun, but I felt it, in the way he taught me to. I did not turn, did not acknowledge the lie he weaved for me. We were alone, I had never heard him follow me, but a small part of me knew. Knew the moment he had stepped foot on the ash with me, clad in army boots. I clamped down on it, the comfort was real now and it would not be ruined. "I didn't think you'd be so fast. Thought I'd have a bit more time." His voice was not the gentle, coaxing voice that led me away from the dark place. He was angry, because I had shattered his comfort, had broken his lie. Truth was a powerful thing and it always had a cost.
I turned then, gazed upon the bronze face with the crooked smile and dark eyes. I knew what he was, had turned to it for comfort and wished upon it without ever knowing the truth behind the lie. In this dark world, where the sun shines, the perfect gem. "Tell me what you know." He wanted truth, I craved comfort. The connection between the two were not all that big.
So it is with shame that I kneel on the ashes of a beautiful, misunderstood world. Shame, for not seeing the real part, for not believing in it. Shame for not living, because of the crippling judgment of the people. Shame, for not wishing upon the brightest star of all, myself.
With fear I stare into the barrel of the gun and feel it melt away, till the only the fear is of the dark corners that hold shadows. Fear, to not let him see me fail, to falter. I have built my own prison and the key is staring me in the face.
The greatest one of all. Hope. Hope told me the lie of the real world, told me I was perfect if I listened. Hope told me to wish upon the dimmest star, so that it may grow to be a blinding light. Hope fought the shadows and let me cry out my sorrow. Hope lives in our hearts. It is the key to the prison of fear and the deafening roar of shame. It is the greatest demon of all. The one who prolongs our torment.
But it is with certainty, that I watch him lift the gun to his head and pull the trigger. Another lie, another day where I do not trust myself to tend the dying greens. Shame made me reluctant, fear made me question, hope gave me light. Unique in the way our minds work, different in the future we see. The perfect world that fell apart was cracked and a bit broken, but it was home. Another lie, another day. So I stand, turn and keep walking. For what can I do, but think of how I feel?
And I walk. And walk, across that barren wasteland for I can do nothing else, not when I left Hope behind, with Shame and Fear sitting on his shoulders. A new dawn awaits, with me as the shadow who broke the fabric and sewed a new lie.
