brownian motion kicks into action as you run delicately through the streets, dodging brothers and little kids. chaos chokes the air as the scent of change permeates, promising as much as it suffocates. they say it will be peaceful, will it not? earlier this morning, there are nothing but footfalls of peasants and musicians, marching along to society’s rot. decay, decay, little is left of the order of the day. your run grinds to a halt as you scoop up a little girl into your arms, saving her from a blast that occurs seconds before it registers in your mind. her tears represent the voice of your kind. they say it will be peaceful, so why are there explosions? you release her into her mother’s protection. watching her go, you continue running, not knowing where your flight’s ending. the soldiers are out, out and about, you hear a brother shout. not to your left, comrade, he says. you turn right and take on a new pace. pushing straight on, you pick up momentum to pull out of this life. is freedom in sight? your next stop is greeted by blinding lights.
years on, the little girl hands you a flower.