I wrote this after watching Requiem for Romance last night;
A Wake for Pained Souls
“On your marks.â€
“Get set.â€
“Go. “
As the race begins, one thing is certain;
Knowing the end game and manifestation of the finish line is a false truth and a true lie.
Now, I call it a race because it’s a notion of the truth we suckle, are spoon-fed, served, taught, and it is what we ultimately live by.
So the race begins and we shoot off at an exhilarating pace, eager to reach the next milestone, each runner just another face to his competitors, just another body to the her numerous opposing contenders.
So, of course, at the young eager pace we’re running at, and the massive numbers we’re running in, it’s next to impossible for the periphery of my vision to register the first few fallen unknown brothers and sisters;
Some fall to the sheer shock birthed by the knowledge of the horrors the race has in store for them, death and pain in varying degrees, each punctuated by life and happiness in varying degrees; some of these entities being quite literal, and some not quite so; on top of not knowing whether the former or the latter will be the end of you.
The marathon stretches on and our eager and young pace grows and dips as it invites a hint of caution as I catch the sound of a few runners stumbling over hurdles, dealing with muscle cramps and anything that may suggest lack of preparation; Tripping over the hate of their daily routine and its pressures, stubbing toes over young depression.
Dash, run, jog; miles upon miles later the pace slackens as the uneven track shows me the truth of water vs. blood; sometimes the purity of water is what I need considering the thickness of blood may just drown me. Family betrayal, Relationship appraisals, their weight put up on scales, the winner never a certainty.
As the runners beside me dissipate, I recognise faces, put names to them, assign emotions to them, and eventually recognise runners as Souls.
The unexpected collapse of an unlikely fellow runner ripples throughout the pack. I feel the emotional death of another runner as if it was my very own. I try and fail miserably at apathy, as a one runner runs off the bridge the track runs through; I mourn having not known this particular runner.
I get side-tracked as my pace aligns with a picture of beauty, a runner beside me;
New-Love found.
The track becomes a mere backdrop as we become numb to their race and the Souls around us.
Laughter. Joy. Happiness. The periphery blinders for what appears to be infinite miles in our race.
Unsuspecting, I sprain my ankle as my companion whispers something in my ear as she weeps at her bruised shin;
Forever-Love lost.
The race jarringly becomes my reality once again as I lose sight of my companion...
I mean fellow injured runner as she walks. I don't have enough time to heal or process the sharp pain of my ankle as I help another runner dehydrated from the loss of Water and Blood;
Absolute-Love lost.
The pack wanes, pain rises, the pace slows, and pressure mounts.
I collapse as a result of my fellow runners' bruises, cuts, and every embodiment of pain; Empathy, the double edged sword.
I wake in my slumber to the sight of an incomprehensible entity, something tells me to call him, her, it Time. Time is surrounded by runners; the surroundings, dreary and bright, sombre and content. This is a vision at war with itself.
The one thing I see that speaks that to me is the pain the souls know, and I see the pain I know. Time was having a wake for souls, alive and dead alike. The shock of that truth tears me awake me from my slumber.
Is that the finish line? Is that what lies ahead? A wake for pained souls?
Jog, walk, and stop. As I take in the sight of the remaining runners…
No, walkers… Scratch that,
As my newly formed eyes take in the sight of Souls, I realize the track is gone, and each Soul moves on at its own pace in its own inconceivable direction,
The only words my feeble self is able to produce are,
I know your pain, and you know mine.
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P.S. I've yet to actually analyse what I've written... I just wrote
