Flickering Lights

I’m not crazy.  Ok, I might be crazy. My thoughts wander aimlessly through halls of flicking lights, anxiously pushing through each set of swinging double doors only to find yet another empty hallway and more of those damn flickering lights. The air is stagnant and chilled, goosebumps prickle my brain, but I am not alone in this most uncomfortable of spaces.

Though there be a handful beside and behind me, outside there are more. The many desire nothing less than for all of us, me and these few, to find a room with a bed and shut our eyes to this world, their world.  A window in each of these blue and white tiled hallways shows us their numbers and their faces.  Some who could have been beside us are set to deny us, it stings, but we are not permitted to cry.

I feel alone in my views, tilting towards what the others label as extremism.  Not extreme by action, but extreme by consequence, as to fix all that I view as obviously broken, would change the way every human on this planet lives.  Optional participation is not an option.  And so, we are the few, lonely but not yet completely alone.

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