They’re counting on us to run out of gas.

They figure we’ll buckle under the endless hammering, get confused by the scattershot of insults, adapt to a new twisted normal. They think we’ll give up.

And we might.

But then again, we might not.

Maybe we’ll get smarter. Maybe we’ll learn how to conserve our fuel, hitch rides with each other. Walk.

They think we’ll do what is easiest. They think that if something doesn’t hurt us directly we won’t care. They think we each have little tiny seeds of hatred in us that if watered properly will sprout. They think we are more like them than we know.

We know different.

We won’t let the weak ones get separated from the herd.

We won’t go deaf to insults directed to others.

We won’t agree to fenced-in freedoms.

We won’t find a narrower lane.

We won’t turn the channel.

We won’t stall out on the side of the road.

We have plenty of gas.


Photo: Gemma Evans


The Daily Post: Marathon