I did it. I've completed the task set to me. I have run and crawled and jogged and slide my way through the race, and I have crossed the finish line. And on the other side...?
Nothing.
A stark emptiness. Sepia tone scenes empty of the so called support that was promised on the other side. The color has faded, the celebration momentary, and now I find myself alone. I am tired, and there is no rest. I pant in thirst, yet the promised springs of freedom have dried up at my approach. The fruits of my labor, once pledge as a feast to reward my struggle, have shrivel and burned in the harsh sun of this desert.
I did what everyone else wanted, what was supposed to be "best for me," and now, I am abandoned. Tears uncried are now unwanted. Hands once extended to offer assistance now burrow into pockets and close into fists.
I have fought the battle and find myself alone on the battlefield. The sole witness to land scarred with shrapnel and painted with the blood of innocents. And I, the solemn flutist, must play a song of mourning and carry on alone.
