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Still
Thousands run across the tinted streets of Boise. Toppling buildings and smashing cars with the momentum of each hurried light step. Their tired breathing blows planes out of the sky and sand off the Boise river’s edge. They run, turning every once in a while to make sure the one straggler was still there. The one slowly losing breath as there eyes focus themselves on the old cracked pavement. The mixture of smoke, water vapor and specks of dust flow into the one’s mouth forcing a strange longing taste. As the heat burned into they’re scalp. The streets are incredibly humid and completely unbearable. Even now, I sit and watch in the shadow of a bridge watching as the one sputters and wheeze before stumbling after the others. Unwilling dragging a weeping willow that managed to wrap around the one’s ankle .
My curiosity compels me as I sneak from my hideout and climb the willow tree in a attempt to get a better look at the one. The one, unlike the other thousands is slightly long and gangly. With green moss-like scaly grey skin. As I sketch I wonder how long The ones marble blue eyes look in my direction but quickly turn away as they return they’re tired focus back to the rest of the group running far ahead of them stopping only to make sure the one could catch up.
Why do they run? They run because that's what they’re supposed to do. Ever since their blood-covered ancestors proved themselves to be survivors and ever since people of thousands of monsters bellowed as they forced time forward a tad too fast, they’ve been running. Other than that, they all have their reasons. Some want to make others proud of their accomplishments as they throw their faults into the river’s murky water below. They often found there way to the front bellowing gibberish they claimed to have learned long ago before. Some want to prove their not like the someone’s who often heckle the others from the safety of a old statue of a little girl and the fighter jets above only peeking out to see the others worried glances and hiding themselves once again. Some may want to own the world and some of them want to better it from its current stagnated condition.
Still, they all have one thing in common as they scrape themselves against dangling trees and bump their heads against the pale moon. They’re chasing something. I’m ashamed to admit I don’t know what the something is. Even I’ve tried to get a glimpse the something through the gaps of a old steel fence, but the blinding light around it makes it far too hard to see. No one can see it, that's why they chase it. Like cattle running blindly forward each chases the invisible something. Each hoping to grasp the strange thing and finally see it for what it is.
Still, some don't make it I’m sorry to say, they may drown in a river or get shot down by fighters jets that are used to prevent destruction. They may even lose their balance and smash their heads against the pavement. But most times they’ll just stop running. They’ll sit down and stare as the others thunder forward.
No one quite knows why. Maybe it's due to the weights tied to their feet holding them in place. It might be the lush city hypnotizes the victims leaving them motionless. Most likely though is the memories of the ones who never got through the rivers, jets and pavement. Those memories eternally flash in their tired eyes and bash their screams agents their ears. In the end unable to hear or see, they simply decide not to run.
Some of them would say it's for the best as no one quite knows why they continue to run. Still, one would stare as they sit wondering what was at the end. The other sitters will tell themselves they were running to the ends of the earth only to jump off into an emptiness. They wonder what it would be like to drift endlessly in a sea of dark blackness. Though grim they’d decide it wouldn’t be too bad, if they drift with others. It's much better than the alternative the horrid possibility that they would run forever waiting for the eventual death that would meet them.
Still, the one would wonder if there was something else? What if there was a chance to find the end? Yes, many tried, many failed and died. The other sitter would tell them the task was almost impossible. It was far safer to sit and wait. The one's words chanting in their heads
Still, that word haunts each one, still. there was still a chance to reach the end. there was still a chance to escape the beating sun and the crowded cities covered in the smoke created by the ones before. their was still a chance to catch the something, whatever it was. That word, still, the word that both cursed and blessed them. The word that kept them in one place and yet forces them to continue.
Still, they came so far.
Still, there's so much they don't know.
Still, everything comes with a risk.
Still, they were so close.
Most of the sitters thoughts will vanish from their heads along with any thoughts they have left. There would be a few including the one, who would stand up. Running after the others, the roads would crumble as some of them would drag their empty friends behind them. With no avail.
Still, Everyone mutters a single word under their breath. Still Still Still, the words echoes in a chorus with each town destroying step heavier than the next. Each blistering sentence bursting through the clouds.
“I can still try.”
“Still, I have so much to lose.”
“Still if I succeed I will finally live”
“Still, if I fail, I might not survive.”
“Still, what’s the point of surviving if you may never live?”
“Still, why live if I might not survive?”
Still, Still, Still The something flickers in the distance as the thousands draws close. Thousands begin to cheer as the one rushes across the lifeless planes, or what was left of them. The grass gave up growing long ago after thousands of foot steps crushed the life out of it. Soon the one may find itself inches away. Finally the one would think. Finally they would know what comes next.
The one smiles as they reach their arms around it. Suddenly, the one is gone.
Gone where, no one knows, some say they’d gone into the clouds, where they don't have to run no more. Some say they were just gone, cruelly erased by the something they coveted.
In the end though it didn't matter, after all, the one did what even many of their ancestors often failed to accomplish. The something would turn to face the thousands before beginning to run once again. So the cycle restarts, as they began to run again. The sitters stay where they are, refusing to give into the agonizing trip once again. The others run onward, with a single endless word branded into their hearts.
© Qwill Smith
My curiosity compels me as I sneak from my hideout and climb the willow tree in a attempt to get a better look at the one. The one, unlike the other thousands is slightly long and gangly. With green moss-like scaly grey skin. As I sketch I wonder how long The ones marble blue eyes look in my direction but quickly turn away as they return they’re tired focus back to the rest of the group running far ahead of them stopping only to make sure the one could catch up.
Why do they run? They run because that's what they’re supposed to do. Ever since their blood-covered ancestors proved themselves to be survivors and ever since people of thousands of monsters bellowed as they forced time forward a tad too fast, they’ve been running. Other than that, they all have their reasons. Some want to make others proud of their accomplishments as they throw their faults into the river’s murky water below. They often found there way to the front bellowing gibberish they claimed to have learned long ago before. Some want to prove their not like the someone’s who often heckle the others from the safety of a old statue of a little girl and the fighter jets above only peeking out to see the others worried glances and hiding themselves once again. Some may want to own the world and some of them want to better it from its current stagnated condition.
Still, they all have one thing in common as they scrape themselves against dangling trees and bump their heads against the pale moon. They’re chasing something. I’m ashamed to admit I don’t know what the something is. Even I’ve tried to get a glimpse the something through the gaps of a old steel fence, but the blinding light around it makes it far too hard to see. No one can see it, that's why they chase it. Like cattle running blindly forward each chases the invisible something. Each hoping to grasp the strange thing and finally see it for what it is.
Still, some don't make it I’m sorry to say, they may drown in a river or get shot down by fighters jets that are used to prevent destruction. They may even lose their balance and smash their heads against the pavement. But most times they’ll just stop running. They’ll sit down and stare as the others thunder forward.
No one quite knows why. Maybe it's due to the weights tied to their feet holding them in place. It might be the lush city hypnotizes the victims leaving them motionless. Most likely though is the memories of the ones who never got through the rivers, jets and pavement. Those memories eternally flash in their tired eyes and bash their screams agents their ears. In the end unable to hear or see, they simply decide not to run.
Some of them would say it's for the best as no one quite knows why they continue to run. Still, one would stare as they sit wondering what was at the end. The other sitters will tell themselves they were running to the ends of the earth only to jump off into an emptiness. They wonder what it would be like to drift endlessly in a sea of dark blackness. Though grim they’d decide it wouldn’t be too bad, if they drift with others. It's much better than the alternative the horrid possibility that they would run forever waiting for the eventual death that would meet them.
Still, the one would wonder if there was something else? What if there was a chance to find the end? Yes, many tried, many failed and died. The other sitter would tell them the task was almost impossible. It was far safer to sit and wait. The one's words chanting in their heads
Still, that word haunts each one, still. there was still a chance to reach the end. there was still a chance to escape the beating sun and the crowded cities covered in the smoke created by the ones before. their was still a chance to catch the something, whatever it was. That word, still, the word that both cursed and blessed them. The word that kept them in one place and yet forces them to continue.
Still, they came so far.
Still, there's so much they don't know.
Still, everything comes with a risk.
Still, they were so close.
Most of the sitters thoughts will vanish from their heads along with any thoughts they have left. There would be a few including the one, who would stand up. Running after the others, the roads would crumble as some of them would drag their empty friends behind them. With no avail.
Still, Everyone mutters a single word under their breath. Still Still Still, the words echoes in a chorus with each town destroying step heavier than the next. Each blistering sentence bursting through the clouds.
“I can still try.”
“Still, I have so much to lose.”
“Still if I succeed I will finally live”
“Still, if I fail, I might not survive.”
“Still, what’s the point of surviving if you may never live?”
“Still, why live if I might not survive?”
Still, Still, Still The something flickers in the distance as the thousands draws close. Thousands begin to cheer as the one rushes across the lifeless planes, or what was left of them. The grass gave up growing long ago after thousands of foot steps crushed the life out of it. Soon the one may find itself inches away. Finally the one would think. Finally they would know what comes next.
The one smiles as they reach their arms around it. Suddenly, the one is gone.
Gone where, no one knows, some say they’d gone into the clouds, where they don't have to run no more. Some say they were just gone, cruelly erased by the something they coveted.
In the end though it didn't matter, after all, the one did what even many of their ancestors often failed to accomplish. The something would turn to face the thousands before beginning to run once again. So the cycle restarts, as they began to run again. The sitters stay where they are, refusing to give into the agonizing trip once again. The others run onward, with a single endless word branded into their hearts.
© Qwill Smith
