Reality is Never So Peaceful

previous part

We've finished imagining. Stay in my head long enough, and you'll encounter worse than blackberry thorns. I say that as though I'm not about to look into my head again and write about thorny things with no fruit.

I'd like to cancel my subscription to life, thanks. I've given it a good shot, but I feel like it's not quite worth it. I was doing just fine without life in my— wait.

That's metaphor of course, because life isn't a subscription service and you can't just uncheck the little box so they'll stop sending so many damn emails and leave you alone. You're getting the messages whether you like them or not.

The world sucks! This year is especially bad, but 2020 is only a number that we can't blame for anything. I think this was just the next step that we were going to have to take eventually. I think that somewhere under the fire good things are happening, but I'm very afraid that we'll emerge from the flames unchanged, bandage the burns and brush away the ashes and tape it all into a box with "2020 - do not open" written on the side. The number isn't the problem; we are.

Things are bad, and I hear from every direction that I have power to fix them. I do not know what to do. But do I? I might. What am I waiting for? Fear makes me hesitant, and hesitance makes me feel guilty, and guilt makes me hate the world even more. I cannot, in good conscience, ignore current events because the people who aren't dying are being stupid and Black lives matter and queer people deserve rights and the Earth is suffering. This world isn’t very good for anyone, when you get down to it.

I am overwhelmed and tired! I want the easy solution that doesn't exist. Until we come up with the next best thing, we all get varying degrees of suffering. As far as suffering goes, mine isn't so bad. I can handle being alive and upset in my own home. It's not about me, but I am human and selfish, so the story can't be about anyone else.

"Are you sure you want to unsubscribe from all future communications?"

I am almost sure. Then I hesitate and decide that I am not.

I keep my subscription to society. I keep watching for the thorns to bloom and grow berries.

Morning

previous part

You can decide how the weather shifts overnight. In the morning, you find a blackberry vine.

You could wake up chilled. The clouds have thinned, but they still conceal the sun behind them. The air is warming, but you shiver. You pick a blackberry, cool and wet with last night's rain. It's mostly ripened except for a patch of purple one one side. You put it into your mouth, and tart berry juice mixes with rainwater and runs down your throat. It stings a bit, but it tastes good. The next one is sweeter.

You might wake up warm. The sun is bright, and the sky is clear. The heat and humidity are nearly unbearable, but you discover the blackberry vine growing in the sun before you retreat into the forest. You choose a berry that falls off in your hand. It is soft and warm, and you think for a second that it tastes like sunshine, before you remember the real sun beating down on your face.

You pick berries until you can't find any ripe ones. The vines don't let their fruit go easily. They catch your hands and arms with thorns, leaving behind stinging scratches as a warning that you choose to ignore. You stop, finally, take a breath and absentmindedly pull a blackberry thorn from your hand.

The pain startles you. A trickle of blood starts to flow down your hand, and as you move your other hand to stop it, you forget where you are. You open your eyes.

The thorn is still there. The blackberries aren't.

part 3

Close your eyes

Imagine for a second:

It's a summer evening. You find yourself in a forest clearing. The air is still, warm, and heavy with humidity. Thick clouds cover the sky, and if you stand still enough, you might notice a raindrop on your face.

Close your eyes. The last hint of sunset has disappeared from the sky. It's dark in the shadow of the trees, but here there will be enough light to see for a while longer.

You step into the wet grass, and it sticks to your feet. You reach for a green leaf laden with water droplets that roll down onto your hand when you touch it.

You breathe in the smell of the rain, listen to the rhythm it makes on the leaves. No other sound interrupts it. The world is quiet.

Now stay there. Drink rainwater from your cupped hands; sleep in the grass until the sun rises. Don't open your eyes again, because when you do, you'll remember that reality is never so peaceful.

Part 2