Paths

Standing on the edge of tomorrow. Lost in the mist of yesterday. Angered echoes dance across the mountaintops. Raging against memories embedded in the mind of a generation.

Stretched behind her lost in the distance of time are the signposts marking the genealogical trail created by her ancestors. More markers than she can count mark the repetition of mistakes from one decade to the next.

One alcoholic followed by another.

One drug addict begotten by another.

Drifters and con artists share their burden with ministers and priests.

No presidents.

No saints.

No kings.

No peasants.

As she searches the archives of her past she finds nothing remarkable surprised only by the commonness of her family tree and the utter lack of creativity.

Here a suicide there an accidental overdose. Down south was a dirt farmer and up north a handful of teamsters.

No doctors.

No lawyers.

No politicians.

No captains of industry.

She found frustration building on her horizon. Were her and her brothers doomed to repeat the utter ordinariness of their unremarkable past? Was dullness genetic or did they have what it took to break the bonds of centuries and build anew.

She cried and she prayed. She vowed that this would be the generation that built a new foundation for her futures selves to gaze upon with pride and with hope for their own future.