Christian Fiction

The Crowd

I sit still and the Earth moves around me. A Revolution. The fluttering motion of precious passerby, of squealing cars and shimmering sunshine, floods my being. I am, as they are, only an identity within the lone world we know of. I see their eyes flashing- hazel, blue, or brown thoughts- revealing a concerned mind. Or satisfied spirit. Maybe selfish, depressed countenance, or joyous heart. Emotions swirl around me in this morning rush. A primitive stampede erupts toward the civilized workplace. How many are aware of their actual job? What minority of them embraces their salary of daily action, and what majority sleep-walks through it? A career is supposed to begin with passion and knowledge, yet in the slander of money, these two prizes are at times sacrificed alongside a dream for a mediocre existence. At this hour there are just the workers. The ones who try and try and follow the happiness of society’s “fulfilling” expectations. Nothing wrong with that, except while they are moving moving I’m just sitting sitting.

New and old faces everyday. I begin to grow comfortable in the familiarity of their noses, frowns and smiles. I think that one man has a good business but is trapped in a suffering home life. I think she was captain of the cheer squad but is now falling out of her marriage. I don’t think that little girl knows her poor older brother swipes side grocers to feed her. A lovely couple always brushes by with hope in tomorrow. I know every person has a past story, one either he is happy to tell or hurried to hide. I imagine the childhood that built the individual I see today. I try to read a chapter in their personal novels each morning, when I stare at their ever-shifting expressions. No matter what clothes, intelligence, skin, pain they are existing in, I hear their inner pleas for help. They all repeat their mistakes like a broken record while God yearns to correct them. I wonder if they will find Jesus. And while they glance at me in pity, at my clouded eyes and cardboard beacon, I pity them… Until the day drops into night, and I leave my desolate street corner for a bench, to consider what I have witnessed in the minds of men.


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