Follow Your Passion: A Seamless Tumblr Journey
Hope has dirt under her fingernails. Her broken foot trembles beneath her as she stands up, reading herself for another punch.
Faith clutches the rim of the sink, breath fogging up the mirror. Then she takes her meds and closes the door behind her.
Perseverance hands bribes to cops and takes the first cleaning job she gets, eyes averted as she gets slapped for tardiness.
Selflessness shivers on her bedroom floor, the memory of loosing a patient on the operation table replaying behind her eyelids again.
Love sits in the visitors hall of the hospital, waiting to replace the wilted flowers beside the coma patient.
Passion only leaves the house to go to therapy, the world too painful to look at for long.
Strength looks at the others and decides to make a home in their hearts.
- there are many fields of flowers. Pick yourself, the sign says. Leave money in box. Leave the money in the box. Bring a knife, not scissors for the flowers. Do not use the one supplied, you don't want your fingerprints on it.
- The playground is empty after eight. Empty. Don't be convinced otherwise. She's not there, the playground is empty.
- If you have a problem, do not approach the teacher watching over the children. Do not approach the mother of three. Smile and greet them, but approach the child waiting behind them. They are the ones truly guarding the children. They will help you. Their guardians guard something different.
- Some time ago, men in brown shirts stole people from their houses. These houses are marked with gold, but not by us. We only know not to step on the gold. The stolen people will not haunt you, the neighbours that watched will.
- This buildings is old, he proudly says. They survived the wars. You smile. You do not asked why they survived. The houses know your question, they grin. Ask them later, he doesn't know.
- A soccer field's lights are always on. People are always playing. Don't approach them; you don't know who they are playing against. Pray they win every night.
- The beggar is not hungry. Not for food. Be kind, and they will ask their price from someone else.
- If you are lost, don't ask the police officer. Ask the street musician. The oldest person in the city doesn't remember a day without that saxophone sounding through the streets. Music is a hobby for many species, and they know better than you where you came from.
- trust the fields. They have seen young girls safely pass. If it calls to you, answer it.
- avoid the people smiling at you, the ones with bright eyes and pretty scarves. No one has seen them here before. Walk beside the ones in grey and black who stare forward, never meeting your eyes. Trust me, they are watching you. If they do meet your eyes, they are telling you you are in danger.
- The bus driver is your friend. The security camera in the back of the bus is not.
-You do not talk to the person in the seat next to yours on the bus. Do not ask them where they're going. Do not ask where they need to get out. Humankind may have buried body language a long time ago, but it will serve you well now.
WHAT TO DO WHEN THE DARK STARTS CALLING
Don’t say you’re fine. Every lie amplifies its siren’s call.
Play music. The soft sort. The sort that sounds like lullabies and freedom, maybe a pinch of adrenaline.
Work. Anything is enough to plug your ears, dull the dark’s edge.
Lie. It’ll amplify it, but we’re all masochists here, aren’t we?
Punch something. A wall, maybe. The blood looks like eyes. The pain feels like teeth.
Don’t say you’re fine. Fine doesn’t mean a damn anymore, anyways. It’s a cop out, a run out, a blindfold.
Close your eyes.
Close your ears.
It can’t get you here.