Keep the Faith
Proud Lines
The languid movements that comprised the gentle murmuring, the sweet nothings, could only be described as graceful. The way he moved, each action carefully planned, was nothing short of elegant. His fingers danced gently over pale skin, hazel eyes shining ever-so-brightly even in the dim light. Crystal fell to the ground, crashing on the ground in what seemed to be tremendous explosions.
"Come on, get up, get out there." A heartbroken negation fills the air, so horribly tragic his heart stops for a fraction of a minute, splintering into deadly shards of muscle. "Don't do this now; we'll go with you. We're not going to leave you alone." Again comes the refusal, barely discernable through the tears. "You'll be fine. Remember what you said; they can't destroy you. Come on, say it now, if only for me."
"You can't destroy me."
"Louder."
"You can't destroy me."
"Is that all you can give? Try again, louder."
"You cannot destroy me."
"You can do better than that."
"You cannot destroy me!" A whimper came now after the words, pitiful and pained. Reassurances spilled again from his lips, sweet words of encouragement. They are routine now, the same concept repeated with only different phrases, in different sequence.
"They can't destroy you, you need to remember that all the time; when you're up there and when you're not. Your voice is a lullaby to them...to some of them at the very least. So go to them now; sing them some song of encouragement, a song to rouse them from the sea of lies they have fallen in. You can save them again from this. After all...you've saved them from far worse fate."
But everything's the same. No word is different from those spoken the night before, from those spoken months ago. They're all one and the same. What would change when the situation remained the same as well? It was the same story each night, the same heartbroken sobs and hopelessness impregnating the air. Sure, they were different venues, different floors, different lighting. But still the words never changed. It was the same book, carted to and fro across the globe, never-ending, never changing.
They stand now, as they do every night, are joined by three other souls. Brothers, friends, accustomed by now to the tension of the nights. As one they walk away from the floor soaked in tears. And the tears will remain there, will become absorbed in the ground or mopped away after they are gone. But the memory remains, the imprint of a different chapter from the same novel.
The voices reach their ears now as they continue repeating their story, as they collect themselves to present themselves in front off the thousands of screaming, faceless souls huddled before them. The tears are wiped away, their hands stained by the saltwater.
This deadly combination of water and sodium chloride contaminates their skin, the instruments they grab. It infests everything it touches, infiltrating their very souls and surroundings. They don't realize it but the tears are corroding their very essence, wearing them down to the bone. By now their bones are exposed, startling white in the fluorescent lights above them. Suddenly, the lights dim as they do every night. There is no added wonder, no new discoveries. They remain silent, faces twisted in concentration. There is no need to speak, no words could remedy them.
On cue they move in unison, bounding out onto the brightly illuminated stage. They prepare themselves, wear the masks they have crafted to hide their exposed faces. Bright, false smiles adorn their masks, carefully created from their experienced hands. But something seems strange this night, like the unexplained deformity that surrounded Mr. Hyde in the classic novel by Robert Louis Stevenson. There is something out of place, something that simply does not concur with the predictability of each passing twilight.
They exchange glances even as they speak, even as they launch into the first song of their arranged set. Subconsciously, five pairs of eyes stare into the crowd, searching for the element that hadn't been present every show previous to this. Suddenly they all spy the difference, the unexplained deformity plaguing this chapter. Their gazes zero in on it, train their might on the sudden change. They glance at each other, wondering if what they see isn't all just some illusion caused by the hopelessness of the earlier situation.
But their gazes confirm what their minds deny. The sign waving proudly in the midst of the dark crowd exists. That sign is fluorescent, standing out from amidst the black clothing and sea of tortured faces. The sign has been marked with thick white strokes, spelling out their salvation. The lettering is bold, proud, everything they aspired to be. The song ends to tumultuous applause but all they can focus on are the three words rising up over everyone.
It never fades from their sight; it never stops floating above that disastrous crowd of broken souls. It remains waving, a bold reminder of what they have lost. They forget what the next song on the roster is. The crowd stares at the five men in confusion, wondering why the show does not go on, wondering why those accursed tears are pooling in their shining eyes. The singer finally raises the microphone to his lips, reading the forceful words:
"Keep the Faith."
"Come on, get up, get out there." A heartbroken negation fills the air, so horribly tragic his heart stops for a fraction of a minute, splintering into deadly shards of muscle. "Don't do this now; we'll go with you. We're not going to leave you alone." Again comes the refusal, barely discernable through the tears. "You'll be fine. Remember what you said; they can't destroy you. Come on, say it now, if only for me."
"You can't destroy me."
"Louder."
"You can't destroy me."
"Is that all you can give? Try again, louder."
"You cannot destroy me."
"You can do better than that."
"You cannot destroy me!" A whimper came now after the words, pitiful and pained. Reassurances spilled again from his lips, sweet words of encouragement. They are routine now, the same concept repeated with only different phrases, in different sequence.
"They can't destroy you, you need to remember that all the time; when you're up there and when you're not. Your voice is a lullaby to them...to some of them at the very least. So go to them now; sing them some song of encouragement, a song to rouse them from the sea of lies they have fallen in. You can save them again from this. After all...you've saved them from far worse fate."
But everything's the same. No word is different from those spoken the night before, from those spoken months ago. They're all one and the same. What would change when the situation remained the same as well? It was the same story each night, the same heartbroken sobs and hopelessness impregnating the air. Sure, they were different venues, different floors, different lighting. But still the words never changed. It was the same book, carted to and fro across the globe, never-ending, never changing.
They stand now, as they do every night, are joined by three other souls. Brothers, friends, accustomed by now to the tension of the nights. As one they walk away from the floor soaked in tears. And the tears will remain there, will become absorbed in the ground or mopped away after they are gone. But the memory remains, the imprint of a different chapter from the same novel.
The voices reach their ears now as they continue repeating their story, as they collect themselves to present themselves in front off the thousands of screaming, faceless souls huddled before them. The tears are wiped away, their hands stained by the saltwater.
This deadly combination of water and sodium chloride contaminates their skin, the instruments they grab. It infests everything it touches, infiltrating their very souls and surroundings. They don't realize it but the tears are corroding their very essence, wearing them down to the bone. By now their bones are exposed, startling white in the fluorescent lights above them. Suddenly, the lights dim as they do every night. There is no added wonder, no new discoveries. They remain silent, faces twisted in concentration. There is no need to speak, no words could remedy them.
On cue they move in unison, bounding out onto the brightly illuminated stage. They prepare themselves, wear the masks they have crafted to hide their exposed faces. Bright, false smiles adorn their masks, carefully created from their experienced hands. But something seems strange this night, like the unexplained deformity that surrounded Mr. Hyde in the classic novel by Robert Louis Stevenson. There is something out of place, something that simply does not concur with the predictability of each passing twilight.
They exchange glances even as they speak, even as they launch into the first song of their arranged set. Subconsciously, five pairs of eyes stare into the crowd, searching for the element that hadn't been present every show previous to this. Suddenly they all spy the difference, the unexplained deformity plaguing this chapter. Their gazes zero in on it, train their might on the sudden change. They glance at each other, wondering if what they see isn't all just some illusion caused by the hopelessness of the earlier situation.
But their gazes confirm what their minds deny. The sign waving proudly in the midst of the dark crowd exists. That sign is fluorescent, standing out from amidst the black clothing and sea of tortured faces. The sign has been marked with thick white strokes, spelling out their salvation. The lettering is bold, proud, everything they aspired to be. The song ends to tumultuous applause but all they can focus on are the three words rising up over everyone.
It never fades from their sight; it never stops floating above that disastrous crowd of broken souls. It remains waving, a bold reminder of what they have lost. They forget what the next song on the roster is. The crowd stares at the five men in confusion, wondering why the show does not go on, wondering why those accursed tears are pooling in their shining eyes. The singer finally raises the microphone to his lips, reading the forceful words:
"Keep the Faith."