Path of the Forgotten- A Tribute to the not-so-forgotten

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A walk of memory, a path of the forgotten. This short story is for those who were young, and those that still are, hiding in secret places - ridiculed by the mass.

Submitted: November 25, 2011

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Submitted: November 25, 2011

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The immaculate pain and suffering I have endured over the past few years walk hand in hand with the knowledge that not all can be overshadowed by fear and rejection. As my bare feet make contact with the pavement one step at a time, I regain a past memory or give a name for every moment I felt uncertain. As midnight approaches, the trees and their hollowing cries surround me in a sorrow filled moment of longing and fear. They too are surrounded by the darkness – the alienation of the people that walk past them every day. All that they are able to do is grow. They cannot choose where they are planted and cannot be guaranteed that they will be looked after. As their branches grow out toward the sun and the open skies, they too want to accomplish the impossible: freedom. With each passing tree, I reach out and my fingers gently caress their body. They are my only company as I venture back home. This road is, however, not as innocent as it is portrayed during the dark. The night hides the stains passed unto them during the day, but the knowledge that things have happened on them lurks like a phantom in a dangerous room. Luckily, I am not alone as the stars, how far they might be; still cast an illuminating light from the skies. Shattered across the universe, entangled in their own system, detangled from ours, they still cast a light shadow over those who walk on earth. They make their presence known. However, just like the trees they carry on without consulting us. How I wish I could be part of their being. Their existence seems so uninterrupted. Unfortunately, this is not possible for me as I am a declared enemy of the social state. They fear me. They want to ‘fix’ me… at the same time they handle me like a virus, afraid I would infect their children or siblings. As I walk this path, I walk it for all those who cannot. Those who hide in darker corners. Under the bed, in the closet… persons covered with earth and gravestones. Tyler Clementi. Seth Walsh. Asher Brown. Carl Walker. Jaheem Herrera. With each tree I pass, I give it a name. A name of those who are lost to us now, but will still keep on living through time and space. As a car passes me I am brought back to the reality of things. As I slide my key into the door, I am engulfed by a somewhat comforting embrace. Even though I get surrounded by a mist of alienation and discomfort at times. I have them. Family. Friends. Open to who and what I am. Not allowing me to become engulfed by grief and sadness, they are the ones that allow me to reach a potential of being. As I close the door, I open the memories and love for those poor souls who never had it. I did not know them, yet I was part of them. We were/are part of the same. Being different is made us the same in the end. Only time can aid in this battle for equality where a future self can truly progress into something valuable. To all those who cannot be – I dream with you.


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