One collective consciousness with distinct voices shouting out.
Dawn. The towns awaken.
Nine to fivers fighting off the migraines from yesterday’s workload
One of many enemies to come
In the seemingly unremarkable quotidian odyssey
Their stage is small and narrow
Their audience is limited and familiar
They go about dreaming of things they’ll never reach for
Or seeking entertainment to tune away from their realities
One fragmented hive mind battling itself
One collective consciousness with distinct voices shouting out
How can we say their lives are not extraordinary
When their POVs are all they’ll ever know?
You want something truly extraordinary about them?
The mere fact they carry on living
With more honor and dignity than many of their superiors.