Keep the Faith
A Legacy
Simultaneously, across the globe, thousands of hearts split directly down the center. Thousands of solders waned, wondering what exactly was to happen next. The drum majors stopped mid-step. Fear and regret slowly faded from view. The strong bass line that kept the paraders in time, slowly faded into the monstrous silence that engulfed the world.
It was the beginning of the end.
Then, the tears fell. Crystalline tears first broke from the corners of a young English girl's eyes. Thousands of tears followed. Sliding slowly from some eyes, pouring away from others. Flowing quickly in large tracks, dripping one by one. Some blinked tears through their eyes, others let their salty tears fall like a waterfall as they momentarily forgot how to function. The solders clutched at their chests, as a pain more vicious than any other tore through their hearts. Some sank to their knees, some looked down to the gaping hole where their hearts used to be. Some lay butchered on the dusty road, others began to wander back to where it all started. The news hit everybody. From the slightly overweight kid who followed in his hero's path drawing his life away; to the Mormon raised man with long dreads, who suddenly began to regret with all his being, the actions he had once committed against the hero in question.
For days the world remained stuck in it's time freeze. Eventually, people began to shake their heads and continue their lives. They entered the subway again and picked up the free newspaper. They boarded the bustling train again and fought the feeling of claustrophobia. They went to their run of the mill jobs that payed their mediocre lifestyles, completely disregarding the five men who lay broken in the slums of New Jersey. Other people found it harder to move on, but did so eventually. Soon, the whole world had forgotten the entire existence of five groundbreaking characters. Five heroes.
Eventually it was just a handful of Romantics who remained. They were the solders who had battled against the constant slander, the solders who had protected their faith through thick and thin. They would not accept it, they could not not move on. Parents watched from a far, silently shaking their heads as they watched their baby walk around, a gray shadow of their former selves. They met each day with dried tears from the night before. They tried to ignore the posters that covered their walls, in an attempt to make it through the day with no tears shed. They ignored their reflection in the dirty mirror. They continued down the corridor that led to another argument, another battle to hold their faith. They rode the bus to their work, or school, fingering the tattoo that they had done about the five men; averting their eyes when they saw a fellow passenger bearing their logo on their shirt. They sat through their lectures, interviews and classes trying to hold back the tears as their superior mentioned the word 'chemical'. They willed themselves to not think 'romance'. They walked through the corridors with cold, tired eyes; barely noticing the students knocking into their body.
The whole world had moved on, why couldn't they?
The answer? It was just incomprehensible, was it love? respect? admiration? At the end of the day, it was hope. Hope was what they had received through the story telling, through the music, hope was what they were giving back. Hope that it really wasn't the final chapter of such a legacy.
It was the beginning of the end.
Then, the tears fell. Crystalline tears first broke from the corners of a young English girl's eyes. Thousands of tears followed. Sliding slowly from some eyes, pouring away from others. Flowing quickly in large tracks, dripping one by one. Some blinked tears through their eyes, others let their salty tears fall like a waterfall as they momentarily forgot how to function. The solders clutched at their chests, as a pain more vicious than any other tore through their hearts. Some sank to their knees, some looked down to the gaping hole where their hearts used to be. Some lay butchered on the dusty road, others began to wander back to where it all started. The news hit everybody. From the slightly overweight kid who followed in his hero's path drawing his life away; to the Mormon raised man with long dreads, who suddenly began to regret with all his being, the actions he had once committed against the hero in question.
For days the world remained stuck in it's time freeze. Eventually, people began to shake their heads and continue their lives. They entered the subway again and picked up the free newspaper. They boarded the bustling train again and fought the feeling of claustrophobia. They went to their run of the mill jobs that payed their mediocre lifestyles, completely disregarding the five men who lay broken in the slums of New Jersey. Other people found it harder to move on, but did so eventually. Soon, the whole world had forgotten the entire existence of five groundbreaking characters. Five heroes.
Eventually it was just a handful of Romantics who remained. They were the solders who had battled against the constant slander, the solders who had protected their faith through thick and thin. They would not accept it, they could not not move on. Parents watched from a far, silently shaking their heads as they watched their baby walk around, a gray shadow of their former selves. They met each day with dried tears from the night before. They tried to ignore the posters that covered their walls, in an attempt to make it through the day with no tears shed. They ignored their reflection in the dirty mirror. They continued down the corridor that led to another argument, another battle to hold their faith. They rode the bus to their work, or school, fingering the tattoo that they had done about the five men; averting their eyes when they saw a fellow passenger bearing their logo on their shirt. They sat through their lectures, interviews and classes trying to hold back the tears as their superior mentioned the word 'chemical'. They willed themselves to not think 'romance'. They walked through the corridors with cold, tired eyes; barely noticing the students knocking into their body.
The whole world had moved on, why couldn't they?
The answer? It was just incomprehensible, was it love? respect? admiration? At the end of the day, it was hope. Hope was what they had received through the story telling, through the music, hope was what they were giving back. Hope that it really wasn't the final chapter of such a legacy.