He looked around at his crowd, his specific clique, and all of them were the same. Same clothes, same attitude, same uninformed opinions, and he was tired.
The lot of them thought they were so clever. They held the world in the palm of their hand and dictated what was good and what was bad.
Though they were painfully few, they stomped through life with loud voices and iron fists. Driven to make others just like them. Angry about nothing and screaming the skies down with imagined injustice.
He’d been caught up in the mob mentality, doing the same things in the same way they had always been done, and there was no excuse other than laziness and an innate refusal to open his fucking eyes.
Something had to change or everyone would burn together in a flaming sea of hatred and antiquated dogma.
He stepped away from the crowd and took the first independent breath of his lifetime.
It filled his lungs with new air, cleaner thoughts, and a sense of right he had never felt.
Everything looked different.
© Shayne McClendon