“Gentlemen, it would appear we have a crisis on our hands. We are at once inert and tempestuous; a most acidic combination.
Our passion broils within the leathery casement of our chests; strapped down hard with sinew and with bone. Some say that yin and yang must exist together, but what happens when one is out of balance with the other? What happens when that white-hot leviathan in the dark depths of our being begins to rail against its restraints? What should we do when the leather starts to hiss away to paper? How long can one resist its might and keep silent in the eyes of a grey world that never ends.
Gentlemen, these are hard times. We are all, here, afflicted… I know your hearts. If we are to take one more breath at resting pace, then we are to perish. It is time for us to leave… Leave, lest we forget the days when our pulses knew more than this slow, steady throb of the apathetic drums. Those drums inspire nothing; they cannot ruffle the dust-touched feathers of our souls. If we leave,we may run, run and fill up our lungs with air and wipe them clean. We we hold tornadoes in our chests not these last dregs of air; lonely old men wandering in once vibrant and lofty halls long emptied. If we leave, we will have time. Time, that we might gather our voices together in one and wield them against this cold, unfeeling, drudgery-filled husk of a city and bring it back to life.
We are pilgrims, my good friends, seeking the Holy Grail of a better time. On our journey we must go, with the hope of one day saving those we have left behind.”
© Lizzie Fraser, 2013, all rights reserved.