Stigma.
Open the newspaper. The Fall Festival is here. What an oddly wholesome event for an unfortunately unwholesome town. A maze in the sunflowers, you like getting lost. You want to meet people in this crooked burg don't you? There was the young pub lad not too long ago, maybe there are others that are decent. Get dressed, try and appear friendly. That's difficult. Put on some plaid, polish your aching nails, perhaps straighten your hair. Lift it to your head and PAIN. Broken, one half hasn't closed and presses against your forehead. A burn mark lies there, above the patch. Another thing to stare at eh? What a bum deal. Walk out your apartment door, past the cockroaches. Walk out of the building door, past the rats. Walk there, why not? The weather is tolerable, not terribly grey, and the only exercise you ever get is from lifting patients. A newspaper stand advertises war. The stand's owner smiles as busy pedestrians flood him with cheap nickels. Enabler. Closer to the festival now. An angry police woman directs cars into the field.
'Now if you'll just -STOP! STOP!" She exclaims at a driver trying to enter into the wrong lane to cut around the traffic.
"Wait your GODDAMN turn!" A friend in another life, to be sure. "Goodness GRACIOUS, alive!"
A crowd of people ebbs around the swath of produce and face-painting tents. Not ready for human contact yet. Enter the maze. Just you and your thoughts. Bad thoughts.
Draw deeper into the maze. No one else is here. Where are the children? Where are the parents guiding them through?
Turn a corner, a glass vase lies there. One severed sunflower lies in it. But among this sea of yellow bloom, this one wilts.
Turn around, turn another corner, a white dove picks at the ground right in front of you. It looks up, into your eyes. It tilts its head. It flies at you, right over your shoulder. Into the clouds.
Another corner, a one-legged man stands with his back turned. Tears well up, you move closer unable to stop yourself.
"Hey...m-mister"
He turns around, you awake in the field. It's darker now, you can hear festivities winding down. Touch the burn mark on your forehead. Close your eyes. Feel your aching head. Open them. Cry. Walk back home. Is it them who are against you or you yourself?
'Now if you'll just -STOP! STOP!" She exclaims at a driver trying to enter into the wrong lane to cut around the traffic.
"Wait your GODDAMN turn!" A friend in another life, to be sure. "Goodness GRACIOUS, alive!"
A crowd of people ebbs around the swath of produce and face-painting tents. Not ready for human contact yet. Enter the maze. Just you and your thoughts. Bad thoughts.
Draw deeper into the maze. No one else is here. Where are the children? Where are the parents guiding them through?
Turn a corner, a glass vase lies there. One severed sunflower lies in it. But among this sea of yellow bloom, this one wilts.
Turn around, turn another corner, a white dove picks at the ground right in front of you. It looks up, into your eyes. It tilts its head. It flies at you, right over your shoulder. Into the clouds.
Another corner, a one-legged man stands with his back turned. Tears well up, you move closer unable to stop yourself.
"Hey...m-mister"
He turns around, you awake in the field. It's darker now, you can hear festivities winding down. Touch the burn mark on your forehead. Close your eyes. Feel your aching head. Open them. Cry. Walk back home. Is it them who are against you or you yourself?
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