October 1, 2010
By aazheng BRONZE, East Amherst, New York
aazheng BRONZE, East Amherst, New York
1 article 0 photos 7 comments

He preaches and as he preaches the angels sing, his voice fluctuates between passion and fear, and when he’s done he goes home and at home he no longer preaches, the sound of his voice is the sound of sadness, the sound of pain unadulterated, the sound of humanity as it cries.

She sings and as she sings her voice crescendos, it reaches its peak with a flourish, the captivated audience begs for more for it never to stop and when she’s done she goes home where the only song is the hiss of the whip that controls her, and she begs for it to stop but no one’s listening.

He studies and as he studies he’s master of the world sailing the seven seas of the past and when he takes his test he passes with flying colors and the teachers pat him on the back the same way he pats the top of his pill bottle when he goes home he swallows down the voices.

She screams and as she screams her body gives, losing control in an effort to bring about another life and then she’s not the only one crying and tears lose their painful tune when cried to a different melody and when she goes home she swears she’s floating until she feels like she’s falling.

He sees and when he sees it’s all clear and everything makes sense as his vision grows fuzzy and when he goes home the people cry and the angels sing, and he realizes the journey does not begin with a step but instead with a tear, the liquid grace that falls from your eyes when you surrender.

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