I have two thoughts today.
A flutterby on a leaf knows it is hungry. The caterpillar doesn’t. Not yet. Because when dragons and monsters and storms and raging rivers come, you know. If you are the hero, that is. And everyone is the hero of his own story. Unless he’s not. Because there’s still the darkness to fight—a darkness that is out of control black, thick as concrete and dense as my heart. Then the hero gets lost. He doesn’t know he’s hungry. Or he does, he just doesn’t know where the cupboard is yet because he just moved into a new house and there’s no cupboard for him to keep easily accessible food in. But then again, it’s not the new house, it’s not even about the food, it’s about the feeling. And the darkness. And not being able to find what you want even though you know it’s right there in front of you. What kind a hero is that?
Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Done. Turn it in. Unfortunately, it gets shredded instead. Crap it, why did I check them all? Dumb check-marks. You’d think they’d guarantee some sort of achievement, some sort of progress, but no. Just another egg laid by a chicken and stolen by the neighboring raccoon. Stupid raccoons. I never did like thieves. I always did like check-marks.