Two Friends in the City

A piece that I sat on for a long time before writing. Part of a self-imposed challenge to write 500 words a day for 30 days. We are the hope that exists in the world ;)

An old friend and I walked through the busy streets. A serpentine mass of humanity slithering past us as we slowly waddled along, dodging the entrapment of its twisting coils. We were not here to shop, work, pay or sell. We were here to observe. 

They walk furiously we thought. Each step so deliberate, so desperate. They struggled along what seemed to be a very steep hill disguised as a very flat sidewalk. This writhing, squirming creature filling this city, stretching through the streets and sidewalks, up into the buildings, into offices, into desks, onto chairs. The city throbbed rhythmically with the coming and going. They keep this city going. The life-force of a metropolis. This mass of beating hearts. Giving life to this dead, empty, wasteland. This is the graying of humanity. This is the system.

We watched on as the people were flushed through. I turned to my old friend. My brow furrowed with an anxious curiosity, “what happened to us?” I asked, “ We've lost it. We've lost the plot. This is not life. This is not living!” The old friend looked at me. A small smile wrinkled across his cheek. “We’re not lost my friend. We haven’t lost the plot. There’s still plenty of hope in the world.” 

I stop walking and turn to my old friend. The serpent’s coils lash past in a frenzied melee of arms and legs, sound-tracked by a chorus of furious chatter. I can feel the hot breath of the beast on my neck. It reeks of debilitating fear and crippling anxiety.  “This? You call this ‘hope’? This creature of habit. These lambs to the slaughter. How can there ever be hope in this drudgery? This terrible system?!”

Again, with a knowing look and a subtle smile, my old friend looked at me. “You don’t give yourself enough credit youngster.”

“Look around you. You are surrounded by the beast. It roars past as we stand here. We travel through the den of the beast and do not feel its terrible claws. We can hear the gnashing of its teeth, but our skin is not broken and our flesh is not torn. The stench of its hot breath burns our noses, but you still draw life into your lungs. Its body grows around you, towering over us, but you can still feel the burning of the sun against your face. Hope exists in the life that you live. Refuse the temptations of the beast. Refuse the system. A system that promotes material development while sacrificing our spirituality.”

“Live your life as an expression of what you wish the world to be. The beast has no power that it has not been granted. It will only consume you if you allow it to. The power of the system feeds on weakened spirits; souls withdrawn into mediocrity by propaganda and tyranny. If you submit, the beast grows stronger.”

“You say there is no hope, yet you stand here amongst the lashing coils and you are not consumed. You stand against the beast and hold strong. You are hope. You who can see the beast for what it is. You who can see through the façade. YOU ARE HOPE my friend and you are MORE POWERFUL than you can imagine.”

 

 

Author's Note

How is the grammar? What is the flow like? Much of my writing stems from the way I would tell someone a story, so it makes sense to me, but what do you think? Does it work?