Concrete Mother

I was writing this as a sort of short story type of thing but it turned out to be more of a characters monologue/ rant. Just wanted any opinions on whether I should acctually expand it into a short stroy like originally planned or just scrap it, so please feel free to comment I would really apreciate it thanks.

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1. Concrete Mother

Concrete Mother

I took a moment to invite in the blissful rays, the sun setting in a soft golden haze on the horizon, the water lapping gently as the current pushed it thorough the earth into a soft beck appearance.

We often don’t take time enough to appreciate the beauty of the earth. I know of many who would snigger at that phrase, claim it to be the nature of a tree hugger but in less fluent grammatical phrases. Nevertheless the statement stands as true. Men see wealth in the earth yes; but for the wrong reasons, in the wrong ways. Where I see nature and life they see the potential for more buildings more concrete, making this a more and more concrete world. They are killing their mother.

I am cynical to the country this is true, but it is not of the nature I am a cynic, it is of the inhabitants of the vast people, the “towns people” who I am a cynic towards. They are in such glory and they do not see it, many people find it very difficult to pick out such beauty as this, to relish in the purity of such great life. It is a crying shame really.

Towns inhabit the countryside, some larger than others but they are always there nevertheless and it is the people within these towns that create a concrete ideal. Although they surround themselves with the green of the earth they “develop” and “build” continuously, they see it harmless but bit by bit more and more land is eaten away by the consumers of industry.

I appreciate the fact that the country isn’t for everyone, the seclusion, the air, heck even the people (who although they care not to admit all originated from farmers). Yes the country is nice, but the city can be also with the pure rush that you get with every day feeling like a race. Thereby I can understand how a city born and bred would find the pace in the countryside excruciatingly slow.

The sounds of the birds over head with the contrast of the gentle beck behind was like a soothing melody to my now dulling headache. So caught up with “life” I forget how wondrous it is out here, how everything, every problem, every worry just seems to slip away.

I like to engulf myself in nature my true guilty pleasure being trees in particular. The pure rawness of such natural beauty always over-whelms me. Green for me has always symbolised life, and new life to come. With the cycle of the earth so is the cycle of our lives, like a mirror against each world.

Its astounding what a little time with nature can do for you. To see and appreciate the real vibrinity of the world. Its truly a spectacle to behold. Often so wrapped up with our “lives” we don’t stop and think. We are a pretence from birth, we are who we are told to be, I know that their would be some who argue with this; but it is true. We are. Without the initial moulding we would just turn from what society perceives to be the “norm”.

When we turn unto the world each waking day we put on a face, one that we were trained into from birth, one that we believe is who we are and we run our lives around the materialistic’s of life, caring only for what people have instead of what people are.

If we stepped out of that façade for even just a moment and realised what was around us we would care less for these material things and tend more for the things that matter in life, turn more for beauty instead of profit, love instead of riches. These decisions always seem hardest when faced by them, but people always stumble at the first hurdle when they forget to stop being “themselves” and see things from new eyes.

I relish the moments I have to myself out here. Even if it’s only for five minuets the freedom and break is like a weight being taken from my shoulders. Like I can forget everything, nothings really there. Of course you always have to face “reality” at some point. Face the on going façade of everyone else in the world that you just pay into because that’s all you really know how to do.

Much like the rest I too put on my face; the one that was indented into me as a child. I sneer now at the thought of my childhood, I know most say that the children they know have an old head on young shoulders but for the majority this is un-true. They are in-fact innocents to the world, freshly born waiting for society to tell them who they are. It is only the select few who are old ones. I was one of them. On the outside you do not understand why children act as so, running, giggling, the immaturities of it all, you see things with deliberation knowing that there is more to the picture than you are being given.

As a child I had a constant inner monologue. So fluent even at a young age but I felt different from all of the rest. They found the most menial things to be the epitome of their being. I found myself more content in solitude, seeing my own company as better than one with a fool who would snott and drool every five minuets; however at the same time I envied at them from a far, so without care, so loved by all. I had always struggled with socialisation, finding it very uncomfortable being in the company of those with judging eyes.

This world is filled with judging eyes. Everywhere you go someone somewhere is watching you and making comment, regardless of whether they know you or not. There is always a stigma found from an outsider that they elaborate upon without your knowing and this mere fact makes me almost wish I was a recluse. Of course now in my later years I have learnt to adapt to my environment so to speak. I put on a façade just like everyone else but the inner monologue is never silenced.

I find it highly amusing to make people think of me as dumb and without common sense. It has been this way since I was a child, I suppose because I had an old head on young shoulders I wanted to find a way to fit in but at the same time wanted no-one to know of my secret elevated thoughts. Unfortunately I got into such a pattern of this I find it almost excruciatingly difficult to show that I am not what I let them think I am. I get panicked and flustered ashamed almost that I am not the same and so think of the first stupid comment to make to cover all tracks. I also talk a lot I find this a nice hiding technique, you see if you talk on a constant stream all of the time after a while people stop listening and so you start to stop worrying about what you say.

I like to amerce myself in menial things. Much like the rest of society; I will focus on something that would appear to be a “big thing” such as the opposite sex and let it revolve around my day to day life letting it blind me to all else letting it become an important factor even though I know at the back of my sub-conscious I care about as much as a dog cares about plastering walls. I step back from time to time allowing myself to be myself a luxury most have not found for themselves yet. I look at the world and amerce myself in that instead. In the beauty of what is around me and consider the things that truly do matter to me. Then again I go back to the façade.

I worry sometimes. Worry that one day I may forget to step back, forget who I am, what really matters to me. Worry that the façade will become more real and the mould that was set for me as a child will become my permanent concrete fixture trapping me inside. Like the earth trapped underneath our concrete. After all what was our mother so long ago that nourished us and cared for us is dying. Society killed their mother. Their mother isn’t a mother anymore she is a concrete mother.

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