Spoiler
Pain is like a candle, flickering in and out, burning up its host, melting it like ice in the springtime. It never truly leaves, the wicker is still there, after all, waiting to be flamed once more. How does pain make us better people, how does it help at all? We still do things that hurt us, we attack each other like dogs in the pound, we still spit words like venom that burns our tongues and and singes our ears. Why don’t people stand up?
It’s because people are weak, ignorant, fools. ‘It’ll get better, just you see, everything is going to be alright!’ They sing into your singed and tattered ears, whilst also attaching strings to your wrists and feet, double knotting them so that their virtues may never turn to vice, puppeting you along. Behind their honey words and facades of joyful times, are the fangs and swords that hurt us, tear us limb from limb, drink our blood, and burn us up inside.
But, it’s alright, let sleeping dogs lie, we all end up as karmatic bastards at the end of the day.
Stepping off of the metal coffin, or maybe metal Hell would be a better name, the world had changed. Was this the true world, or was it simply another perspective? Change your perspective, and the world around you begins to morph into another's Hell, after all. No world, no place, no land is ever really happy, just some are better at being content than others.
The train station was bare, yet at the same time, fuller than anyone could ever imagine. Full of fear, full of hatred, full of whims and woes. There were no metal turnstiles, no men on phones with briefcases, women pulling children along through the crowds, none of that in this land. Only dirty, concrete flooring, dirty walls, deathly people, a moving deathbed, and a map. Yes, a map was strapped to the wall with nails, but it was rather faded and dirted, it would be of little to no use.
As people were ushered out of the train station, moving towards large doors on one end, it was rather a site to see. Looks of anguish, confusion, vileness, and all the colors that may lay betwixt. Sasha continued to hold Deviant’s hand as they moved with the crowd, looking straight forward, not wanting to look at anyone in the face. She did not want to wind up a puddle of sopping tears upon the dirty floor, after all, as she felt that if she looked at someone in the face, she might break a bit more, and that would cause the dam to flood.
One would think the people would try to rush back into the train, as though they were the Romans running from the fire of the lyre, but alas, it seems even then, the most ignorant baffoon knew there was no escaping this fate. They simply marched on, doing as they were told, good and faithful children.
Eventually, Sasha and her boy made it out from the train station, and it seems then, the guards just let people wander. The city...was about as appealing as a rotten piece of fruit was. Broken skyscrapers, or maybe hope scrapers would be a better word now, the streets filled with the filth of humanity, a few limbs could even be seen sticking out from alleyways. Drunks? Dead people? Discarded limbs? Neither youths had the time to piddle about and wonder. A couple of people seemed to be heading off on their own, but most seemed to be going in a general direction. Where would these people be going?
Time to follow, then. Sasha gave a small tug to Deviant’s wrist and beckoned him to still follow, although his somewhat hopeless gaze had been fixed on a red splat that gave the grey city a bit of color on the road. Blood, juice, maybe even dreams? Who knew what it was. Either way, they must move on, continue to follow.
She didn’t know what to expect, she wasn’t tall enough to stand above others to see where they were headed, sadly. But, she wondered, did she really want to see where they were going? Sasha then decided; probably not. They were all in the same boat now, though, birds of feather flock together, after all. Not many spoke as they walked, many looking as though they were now being put into their grave, stoney and cold. Why speak? No one spoke at funerals, and this was everyone’s funeral now, or so it seemed.
There were no lights in many buildings that they passed, like hope snuffed out, a dark world. However, just because no one was talking and the city was dark, did not mean the world was quiet. The wind still blew, the shoes still made sound upon the pavement, there could still be whispers heard in the allies. Oh, yes, many whispers. And laughter, but not a tinkerbell laughter, but ones that sounded hounded by voices in their heads, that sounded deranged and haunted by madness and internal, repressed sadness.
