A time and place for bricks and bottles

The restless warrior awaits.  Discomfort washes over her as she watches things spiral further downward.  Rage has been slowly bubbling up inside her with each passing day adding additional fuel to the fire.  A part of her wants to feel righteous watching them present themselves in the form that they have always been, but she knows that to be a hollow notion.  There is no joy in what is happening.

And yet despite the clarity of her own senses and understanding, distant voices shout at her that she is wrong.  There is no cause for alarm.  Despite what she can plainly witness with her own eyes, they argue that what is happening isn’t actually not happening at all.

And yet… She saw it.  We all saw it, how can you deny it?  It happened.  That brazen display could not have been executed more universally recognizable than it was done.  It was no mistake.  An honest mistake is apologized for once pointed out and made cognizant.  You don’t double down on an honest mistake or an uncontrollable reflex.  But then again, accountability seems to be a thing of the past for those who are untouchable.  A part of her believes it was an intentional test to gauge the boundaries of what is tolerated; another stone skipped across a placid lake to see what size ripples it would cause within our ecosystem.  No amount of gaslighting, deflection, or finger pointing can sweep it under the rug.  It was what it was and it was as simple as that.

It feels as though she has been treading water for some time and the waves are only becoming more frequent.  For how long can she manage to stay afloat?  It is a rollercoaster from which she cannot disembark.  The strength required to smother the primal urge inside to break something; to grab the nearest object and send it flying is becoming almost impossible.  But, now is not the right time.  For now she must rely on her own voice and remain sturdy within the constant, blinding disillusionment.  The day for bricks and bottles may come soon enough.