Dystopian World
Before the time of loathing, I remember the deep red satin sheets which draped the clustered market stalls. This particular place used to hold the greatest pleasures. Refractions of piercing white diamonds were sold here, the foreign kind that reek of pleasure and self entitlement, still manage to hold their presence in this naked earth. Not so long ago now, I watched the purchasing of these forgotten treasures. Piles of the rarest medicine and the most outrageous watches drenched the tables of the sellers. They would grin ear to ear with the presence of their products. Proud of their materialistic fortune. However, Ironically demand for these goods cease to exist, time is no longer counted on land.
The most common customer present at these stalls were always broad older men. Drenched head to toe with strong cologne. Their dark cloaks filled with coins milled in and out of the various stalls in a very formal system. Ambling children fattened by the decadence of love and food, whose singular fear was fictional followed their guardians through the choreographed system of which was the selling.
The selling started at nine and finished roughly around five, I remember this because Mother would be hanging up the washing in our backyard during these hours. Her delicate fingers carefully placing the clothes in swift movements, in time with the motion of her chestnut hair. Humming to herself she would complete her work, intertwined with the constant resonance of the market. I miss those sort of sounds, the ones that are never far gone, that triggered the brain in a form of comfort. All i hear now is the small whisper of the wind, no better alternative to mothers large voice. Being apart of the Allein limits sound and any aspects of homely life. Allien translates to alone, I know this from taking German in 4th form. We were studying a book where a small spotty dog ran away from home. He left one rainy evening, slipping through the darkness like a single shadow. Two days later the small dog began to miss his family, his home. That dog was stupid. I would give anything to give life up as a shadow.
Its my 46 circuit presently. This area is roughly 26 hours away from the checkpoint. It has taken me 12088800 minutes and unfortunately it still remains the same.
Above, the darkened sky holds dusty pheasants, their long dark tails control the moving clouds which weep exhaustion. The terrain below encases my bare feet. My movements create imprints in the baked earth. 1, 2, 3 I count like a rhythm. Over and over a constant beat. Counting lets me continue to walk. I see the plague of unworthy power that has been grasped, I see the pettiness, I see the wastefulness, I see how lonely life is now. Life is a lone journey, allowing shrapnel of unsuccessful aims and dreams coat the rugged terrain.
I am alone in my thoughts whilst I walk the path again and again. Back then everything no matter how politically influenced and forcefully imposed on us had some sort of purpose. I grip the yellow tattered band highly strung around my waist. The only visual connection to the past. Materialistic memories of belongings and ownership of not just ‘things’, but yourself. I feel as common as the small specks of sand in there millions bellow me. The Loathing was a system commended for its savour of our society. “The loathing promises to eliminate all negative occurrences and remove future war”. I can still see the red violent banners that draped central downtown. Constant hand painted shouting stood above every street. These signs were up for weeks. Blinded by the red hope the citizens turned unarmed into its wrath like small spotty dogs naive to greater alternatives. The loathing was given permission and the system did not disappoint. Terror was removed but loneliness took its place. 1,2,3, I continue to count.
The sharp autumn breeze isolates me from my thoughts and I see the small willow up ahead, right on time. 1,2,3,1,2,3. The sad green branches taunt me in and I sit in the depths of its roots. The swaying of the single leaves send me to an unwanted sleep. 1,2,3,1,2,… and a dark cold pressure circulates my body an energy that makes me feel not alone. I wait. 1,2,3.
