Lucky one
- Trevor
- Feb 16, 2017
- 1 min read
We’ve traveled the plains and left our dead. Like the occupants of an ant hill, we become angrier with the reality of our plight, as each kick of a child’s boredom sends dirt flying in every direction. But much like our friends on the ground, we rebuild our structure. However, each time we are left with less dirt and less laborers to work with as the winds of time and the fragility of life aren't so considerate. Should I consider myself lucky if I am to make it to that country of plenty having left behind so many? The plain cares not. It claims who it wishes. Bodies become skeletons within its vastness as wheels continue to turn. I will be damned if I have to let dirt fall from my fingertips onto the caskets of everyone I have ever loved. Allow the plains to claim me before I am the last one standing.
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