Work Text:
We live in trying times. Shadows lie in the distance, drawing ever closer, threatening to swallow us whole, with nary a trace of humanity left. Cries snuffed out by the horrors screamed by every other being subjected to things beyond human comprehension. Every day, a test of whether living is worth the humdrum droll of pushing one foot in front of another.
We look, presented with choices, of whether life is worth continuing. Whether it be better to clock out, snuffing the light from the candle that lights the clocks prepending when we'll be clawed back home, or if the chaos is survivable.
It takes immeasurable strength to continue. To dig down, clawing back some semblance of what we see as our humanity, to ensure we may continue one more day. Cursing to the heavens, that despite claims, sometimes the deities do give us more than we can handle.
The strength of resolve is so oft met with the realization that "today is not the day I go home." Mourning those that could not hold on one more day, hour, second. We grieve, we mourn. We continue on until we can't. For what else is there to do?
In the midst of the chaos, the raging storm of our hearts and minds, one question can be plucked, held like a newborn full of hope, a promise for the chance of a better tomorrow that we might not see ourselves, but surely they shall.
We must ask, in these times:
Is the chaos, the trauma, the bereavement a fundamental part of the human existence?
Is it something we are born within? Something that moves on, unchanging, like the slipping of sand in the hourglass that is our present, past, and future beheld akin to one of G-d's pawns?
Or, perhaps, is it something simpler? May it be that there is hope in the future? Maybe. Maybe not.
Maybe the true answer, at the end of the nights sky, filled with stars glittering like glistening diamonds, that the true answer is, maybe it's maybelline.