You don’t believe in anything. You gave up on life before you were even
born… sat poisoning Cocoon from the inside, waiting for someone to come
and destroy you. Sure, you think the end of the world is salvation. All
you care about is death’s release. So take it, and leave the rest of us
alone. We don’t think like that. When we think there’s no hope left, we
keep looking until we find some. Maybe Cocoon is past saving, but it’s
our home. And we’ll protect it or die trying! We live to make the
impossible possible! That is our Focus!
Sketches including Kings Yuuri and Viktor from a fantasy au with @thelittleleprechaun, a sad Yurio and beat up Otabek from a high school au with @yuripliestsky, fem Otabek, and a very flustered older Yurio
“When we think there’s no hope left, we keep looking until we find some. Maybe Cocoon is past saving, but it’s our home. And we’ll protect it or die trying! We live to make the impossible possible! That is our Focus!
Meadow Road was uprooted in the sixties. Back then, you learned to walk down its middle before the cars came through. Before Grandma could get sentimental cement shot through the dirt and gravel like a pipeline stricken- ushering in suburban promises. Hush went the sermons of “love for thy neighbor” of strawberry patch dinner plates for thy neighbor. Grandpa kept his green thumb but lost track of the greenbelt lost count of the engines he’d fixed for a friendship.
My parents built a sun on top of the hill there, where light ran West into the mouth of the street in attempt to cleanse the earth beneath. I was warned not to stray too close to its bottom to leave fences be so they’d never be trodden and I’ve plead the Fifth because it’s safer to save face in our homes than to admit there’s a problem with being home. When I got older I started running down that river when I noticed that Mom and Dad slept in separate beds when Dad needed groceries at nine p.m. I started running when vacations ceased to mean escape that summer in the cabin we lost Grandpa upstate. I started running when Grandma began to forget when her hands became earthquakes and when in passing it slipped that my leaving wouldn’t cause bleeding. I started running when I realized mailbox names had been replaced by numbers and I didn’t know whether it was worse that they meant nothing to me or to know each and everyone.
Then January hit and crisis became a virtue. Our fence splintered and surrendered to winter’s war until the wood was no man’s and a soldier broke through. I spotted Olly’s speckled coat his snout seizing blades without boundary. He’d escaped the pen, Mom heard. I coaxed my neighbor through yards I could never match a family to dodged branches that grabbed for intruders but it no longer felt rude to trespass on strange land because I was no longer doing things for the greater good I was doing these things for a stranger good and acres away, I broke into the neighbor’s gate and gave Olly his homecoming. I spoke more to him than I did the owner. The woman’s eyes darted to the road, behind me to the cars creeping towards us like death, like the errands she needed to run before they finally reached. “The kids must have left the gate open. Thank you.” With that her door closed and the kids I’d never heard of the lives I’d never learned of crept back into the pen. Uproot the pens and uproot the fences uproot our hands so they can they can make sense of the senses uproot our voices so we can wipe the dirt that comes with them uproot our love so I can know what family is again. Meadow Road was uprooted in the sixties but that doesn’t mean it can no longer grow. Because I’ve seen cement that can crack I’ve seen yards that can be overrun and I’ve seen pens that can be broken.
When we think there’s no hope left, we keep
looking until we find some. Maybe Cocoon is past saving, but it’s our
home. And we’ll protect it or die trying! We live to make the impossible
possible! That is our Focus!