My life is like a thousand others out there, perhaps millions, all suffering a pain they didn’t look for, a hurt inherited since first breath. We are a clan of unknowns passing each other by everyday never knowing the road we share. A road peppered with grounded glass. Minute pains in the grand scheme of things finding its way into every nook and cranny of my feet. It’s the bane of my life. If I don’t walk I’m never going anywhere. But when I do, it cuts.
Sometimes we meet others like us and find comfort in the pain that we both share. Shielding one another from the pepper rain life throws at us, splashing acid at others in the process. But with all things, we degrade into degenerates, shoving for space under the umbrella of misleading hope pushing the other out of the place of comfort only to have acid poured upon the weaker. The victorious valor laughs in bitterness at the demise of the other and walks on upon the peppered glass.
Hurting. Always hurting.
Sometimes, we don’t have a choice. We be birthed into a family of unloving blood. For some, they have all that a human needs but tinkle and break under the force of an ant because of a paper thin shell filled with empty air. Others, unfortunate as they are, are the stronger ones. They are the ones who stand up upon knees of blood to walk upon crimson feet. They have to move. They have no choice. There is nothing for them where they are. No food no water. Or may be a bit better, no house to shield them from the rains. Or may be a bit better, no money to give to the ones of unloved blood. Or some times it’s just not these tangible things that makes everything bad, merely festering wounds cut open by a dirty knife. But things always do seem to get better. When they think that the pain has gone away, they just fail to realise that it was all due to the overbearing pain that dulled the senses. A little water, a little air, and what we find is just more to bear.
Is there no redemption for us who bear the curse of peppered feet?
Where are we going? Where have we come from? To whom do we go to for our shiny yellow boots. Boots that splish and splash upon acrid rain, boots that causes the ears to hear crunches, but no feet to feel that pain that was once so familiar.