Being an empath is hard. Harder still, standing here. Those strings have played more feeling than the world is still capable of, and all I want to do is crawl into those memories, those times, good times and bad, and curl up forever, try to live in them, and not here. Not here, in the cold, waiting for the auction to start. Waiting for my heart to break.
Yeah, being an empath is hard…
(With all due credit to Spider Robinson, who taught me more about music and empathy in his books than anyone ever has in life. Also life, hope, joy, sadness, laughter, friends, family…thank you, Spider and Jeanne. Written for the Friday Fictioneers, like it says above, but it won’t let me link in a title, so here’s the link. ;p)
Huddled together under the dubious safety of the Bridge, the Less watched the poisonous beauty rain down from the sky. They called them “Civs”, those who sent the terror, the flowers of sickness and death. Civs, short for civilized, for those who thought themselves risen past all ugliness and filth, all hunger, pain, and anger.
In the City, all was beauty and grace, peace and love. In the buildings so tall and willowy; grown, not created. Grown of the plague that was destroying humanity. The living seed of evil, machines smaller than the very air itself…machines that “fixed” everything, everywhere.
Gone was individuality, a cause for strife; property, breeder of jealousy; anger, pain, trauma…imagination, creativity, life.
Barely clinging to existence, those who called themselves The Less…careless, feckless, reckless…faceless…fought, carrying out a losing war against the Seed.
Soon, all would be at peace…beauty and grace rule the world. And as they watched the beautiful death that came for them, its light illuminating the shadows and dirt in which they existed…most of them could not regret its coming.
(whoops…forgot the linkie thing. Lots of neat little stories here. Go check’em out!)