High up in the air, she floats. She's looking down at the world, the little worker ants in their presentable suits carrying suitcases filled with information. Swarms of them flock into the high rise buildings which other ants built by carrying small materials from other premises and arranging them in an orderly fashion. Oh, they're all artists. She's one too, but today she's dreaming. From above, she observes masterpieces being given meaning and usage. And as she sees this, she's watching the greater masterpiece at work, being painted, and she's giving meaning to the strokes of wisdom and inspiration, the intricate brushwork, the careful attention, the scintillating glint in eyes. Watch as the blinking of a neon light flashes in corneas, in irises, in pupils. Happiness... is but a glint in their eyes. She smiles as she realises that ants can be happy, even if only for a moment before the sparkle is erased by the shadow of the incoming puppeteers. They loom over the ants, glaring at them to do their work, not to think, but to produce, to build, to erect. And as the massive stick prods the ground near them, they scatter at lightning speed in a rush, heads down, thumbs up, zombies. The rise of the dead - troubled sleep - makes her frown in confusion. She, herself, is but a marionette, but today she knows it which is why she's high. And any moment now, the balloon will pop, her heart will sink, and she'll fall once more into the symbolism of ants. But for her, an imprint from her sight, will remain and she will stir. This sliver of a memory, casts doubt over the shadows she is in, not because she's getting lost, but because the light is showing her the way out, for light dispels darkness. Or more correctly, light dispels the illusion of darkness.
She begins her journey of liberty.
0 comments:
Post a Comment