5The Earth is spinning and with it our heads. At the speed we live at, is it any wonder? We rush here, then we rush there, then we rush to get away again, never noticing the colours around us. Most people couldn’t even tell you the colour of the mud. Ignorance is bliss.
But she knows. She wasn’t blessed with the concrete we take for granted. She doesn’t have the shoes to keep her feet dry. She grew up with the mud coating her legs and drying like a scab over her hurt skin. She knows of mud that bursts into the air under the feet of dancing children, of mud that is stained with the crimson liquid of life and partially disembodied limbs.
She has no need to rush. Who can run faster than anger? So she sits with her knees held under her chin and watches the slow swirling ballet of the contaminated mud. And she peeks from behind covered eyes as the bright colours of her world mingle with scarlet and lose their enchanting innocence until the things closest to her die and rot away and she is forced to move.
But she walks slowly, forcing time between each footstep and still taking in the molten colours of the glutinous liquid as the people who don’t know scuttle frantically from place to place, never really going anywhere.