Wednesday, 4 November 2009

One inch at a time.

The intensity with with you watch us scares me. Your posture is the same; leaning back slightly on your heels, your head tilted away as if you're observing something strange, but not wholly remarkable. And yet the look in your eyes...
What is is you want? If i could get you to understand us, I would. I would open up those half-lidded eyes to our plight and rub the dirt grains under your eyelids and press the sand granules into your cheeks. Maybe then you'd understand the pain.
We didn't want it to start again like this. But what can we do but answer the call? Suddenly now we have the energy to drag ourselves out of this mire. So that is what we do. Who wouldn't want to escape the deadening suffocation that was claiming us below?
You. Do you enjoy watching us? Do you enjoy seeing the way our gnarled fingers scrabble at the rocks and scratch deep into the mud? We've made progress since last you came. Now our wrists and elbows are free, reaching towards the sky like dead trees, swaying in the beautiful, oh so beautiful breeze. We crook our fingers towards the sun, clenching and reopening, straining skywards, pushing our limbs up, up, up towards it as if we can grasp hold of it and just float our way out...
Go away. We are dreading the first breath as it is. We don't want you to witness it.

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