Machie steps up on the stage, and the lights in Coughing Coffee dim around him. A microphone stands in front of him, and he moves to stand in front of it, face set in a serious frown.
“This world stands on a precipice, she says, with one hand on a trigger.
It could be new.
This world stands on the edge of something brilliant, if only someone was brave enough to just...
Wait, back up. I have a sister. She understands the difference between rebellion and action, between what has to be done, and how it will be done.
She understands the time it takes to breathe between aiming, and pulling.
Because if it was so simple, everyone would have done it.
But not everyone can do it. It takes someone new.
It can’t be me, because something old and ancient has tied a rope around my waist and tugs every time I think leap.
It has to be her, because she looks at the future and it’s bright, and endless, and she’s smart, so smart with the drive to be better, and no phantom ropes around her waist.
She stands on that precipice, along with world.
She stands and she thinks, this could be better. This could be just, accepting...right for the first time in ages.
Maybe she’s brave enough to just...pull.”
By the time he finishes, his hands are held in front of him. He’s breathless, and a little wild. He hops off the stage to the snapping of fingers, and heads to the counter to collect his customary post-poetry Caramel Macchiato.
