Friday Flash and Wednesday Stories: The Anvil and the Coffee Table
As I walked through the valley that was in between high rise buildings I felt a sense that the country had begun to resolve their nonacceptance, and soon some may forget, the issue leaving the surface of their minds to take its place underneath what is more current, more urgent. I feel that something needs to be done now, so we continue to remember our nonacceptance, our reasons, just so something can be done about it. This is so that next time, the country would not have to mourn the same death, grief the same grievances over again, having their middles hammered by the same injustices, and fall again into the same blackness only to after long painful weeks of disappointment, forget.
We must place the nation on the anvil, and knock it into shape, and when that is happening we have to brace ourselves, holding on because sometimes knocking things into shape is more painful than just leaving it be. I hope very much for a delivery of something new out of this darkness. I hope very much that we do not just sit back, once again comfortable in our wooden seats, reminiscing about what was. Hoping for what could be while grieving, mourning, complaining about what is not. All this without paying to make it any different.
I use to dream of new places, faraway ones, because those were ideal. Those were not ruined by reality, they were whole in their perfection, goodness. And so I would dream of wandering, of flying, but now I recognise that I must dream of a new place that is here. Not there.
We must get up from the old coffee table, and place ourselves upon the anvil. And fight, fight to be hammered into place. There sometimes must be a sort of destruction, a sort of pain, before a beautiful dawn springs, bearing good fruit of a better, place.
Lest we accept our disappointment as normal.
I must dream, of a better place.
To the anvil, let us go.