Standing in line for the next smokescreen

“…the few scattered survivors from the ancient world were incapable of comparing one age with another.  They remembered a million useless things, a quarrel with a workmate, a hunt for a lost bicycle pump, the expression on a long-dead sister’s face, the swirls of dust on a windy morning seventy years ago; but all the relevant facts were outside the range of their vision.  They were like the ant, which can see small objects but not large ones.”  George Orwell

Once again I run.  Bombs crash behind me, glass shards fall upon me as I shake my head unimpressed by the lies which keep the bombs falling.  I look them in the eye knowing until we learn how to stand below them unmoved, they will continue.  A shadow crosses my eyes as I remember the shop where I got the red book so long ago…I remember and she crosses my eyes…I forget, reach for her, and she disappears…disappears when I know.  Blinking my eyes I remember that dust-covered shop, the way it made me feel like a child, before I fell down the well, before my mother became just an idea, before the shadow eclipsed my sight.  The red book flashes in my mind as Cherry stands before me…I know I can reach…and.I..forget…everything.  Standing in line I can’t remember what for, something is deeply tapped as I once again place myself in that dusty room.  I remember the old man’s kind, weathered face.  His eyes knew something I couldn’t comprehend as he nodded his head and acknowledged the red book I was holding in my hand.  In the distance the conveyor belt took away another lost form toward its entrance, another empty scream fades from memory.  I walk towards the dusty storefront as a wind sweeps up from below me, blowing garbage and plastic before my eyes.  A bomb explodes and the windows of the shop shatter as the store itself implodes into nothing.  A scream from the void of the implosion pierces my ears, throughout centuries the screams of the lost form tears in my eyes.  I learn something, and continue walking towards the store as if it is still standing.  I walk straight through the image of the bomb blast and the dying screams of those in pain.  I walk through the flatness of the blast and look below my feet as I move along to the conveyor belt where I will presumably be swallowed by death.  The sight of the dusty old man’s face appears before me, swinging a gas lamp back and forth, a pendulum of light swinging with the earth only shaken by the eclipse hiding its origin.  The man is strength, is love, is hope. The book and all of its contents overtakes me as the factory lightens into a vapor and all those standing in line are uninterrupted as they stare at the mouth of the factory.  All the shadows in an infinite line reach for the book, as they touch it, color returns to their shadows and the line is broken.  In the air a humming grows and appears closer, spitting hatred upon the shadows after they discovered something, they reach to the sky as they are scattered into numbers.  Still they reach up as what was inside them begins to saturate the earth, and what gave them life, what is life, never quite disappears.  As I stare into the hum hanging above me, she reaches for me from out of the shadows but I do not lose focus on the eye.  As it destroys everything around me, I know it can’t harm me, and for the first time I feel her as the hum becomes something else, something a little more hidden, something with a different excuse but always the same agenda…the cries from deep within the earth become deafening


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