And that how it's starts. Like dreary, weary fog slithering across cold, winter stones. The words slip off my tongue like silk lined steele. As if I'm trapped in a nightmare. Nothing cohesive. Everything sevared.
And I'm lost.
Lost in what? - you ask - Lost in fear like cruel intentions.
Place that scenario for me. Don't say anything. Just picture it in your mind's eye. Now what do you see? If you see nothing, try a little harder ... or try a little less. Can you feel the cold chills ripple up your spine? The icy shards of pure agony slide between your level-headedness and cleave it apart, the panic flaring behind your breastbone. Like a ball of cauterizing acid. Does your mouth now feel suddenly dry, and do your limbs now refuse to cooperate?
A person called Edward Vernon Rickenbacker once said: "Courage is doing what your afraid to do. There can be no courage unless you are scared." Scared. Afraid. Terrified. Petrified. Maybe there all necessary. What is in the risk without them?
No leap of fait.
No blind guesses.
Or shooting in the dark. Not suspence or anticipation. Because only idiots are afraid of nothing.
Once upon a time I was laying on my back centre line of a highway headed for bad-times. I was with someone, but I can't seem to recall how. Like a dream just out of reach. The most vigorous, exuberant part of this memory is the innocuous sense of safety that drifts, strong and true, onto my shores. Like I was home-free. Separate from every horrible deed done, and little stabbing words.
How many people in the world have felt this way?
I know you have, and the person sitting next to you probably has as well. But what's to be said for the pummeled parents ailing under wicked dictators and malevolent aspects. Or children to neive to understand any of it. Or the kids forced to be fully grown with maybe ten years on them, thinking like adults, fending like adults, living like no one should have to live.
Do you think they've felt security like you have?
Sometimes abstractions like this make me feel reprehensible. Like I shouldn't have what I do. That I'm too lucky. As if all my good fortunes are faultingly placed. That I don't deserve what I have. And maybe I don't. Because I don't have to struggle against heart-wrenching endeavours to abtain it. I don't try. I hardly even it realize it's there. And I bet you don't either.
Maybe we should be the ones plauged with haunting fear.
So this is a stand against Emperor Hirohito who instagated the Rape of Naking. Against Maximilien Robespeirre, the drive behind the reign of terror. Against the idea spawned by Josef Stalin, the froce behind his people through genicidal famin. Against Delphine LaLaurie and her chamber of horrors, against how justice was never surved against her inhumian experiments of the human body.
Ivian the Terrible, who murdered his own son, murdered his own son's child, murdered thousands, upon thousands of innocent lpeople.
But this is also against the silent pendemics of the world. The black souled bullies. and the cold blooded words that ooze from their lips into our ears. The horrible sound. Like chains to chains. Of hearts breaking and promises faultering. The cataclysmic divison of famlies at the hand of divorce. The girls who will always tell themselves
"I'm not pretty enough."
"I'm not skinny enough."
Not good enough.
this is for the sevared.
By: Emma Irvine - Copy right