Since that November, civilized discussions have failed and all there’s left to do is eat ice cream, watch Lifetime movies, and shower in the stillness of our house among the hills where we absconded after that fateful day.
We’ve escaped what once was and still is for those who steered right and not left, but sometimes, when the air feels cold and thin and clear, I’m compelled to yell from the hilltops ‘Doesn’t this hate and blame and paranoia ring a bell?’ or wander back to that place that was once ours because she was certain, that friend I once had, that things wouldn’t change, but back then, they couldn’t see, those most delusional, who are now watching through their binoculars, paranoia perched on their shoulders.
They’re watching, I’m sure, and waiting for us, although we’ve never returned; haven’t and couldn’t and wouldn’t, because it wouldn’t be a return. What we left is gone, and what remains was left behind by us, who’ve been left behind by them.
So here we sit, nestled safely between the indifferent hills where the pages from our stories have been blown wide open, eagerly inviting us to write our own future, one where we can live in peace and tolerance, acceptance and uniqueness, because we remain the enlightened ones, and our future, despite our precipitous present, will need to know that we were the brave ones who left so we could write.
We are the ones diminished from the deaths of those who fell for simply being who they were. We are the ones who embrace mankind.
We are the ones for whom the bell tolls, not the cowards who stayed and prayed and slayed, and we are the ones who’ll live on long after our demise, so that others can learn.
Jenny Morelli is a NJ high school English teacher who lives with her husband, cat, and myriad yard pets. She seeks inspiration in everything, including her nightmares. She’s published in several literary magazines including Spillwords, Red Rose Thorns, Scars tv, Bottlecap Press and Bookleaf Press for four poetry chapbooks. Website: JennyMorelliWrites.com
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