Journal 4: Hope

And Mark was filled with hope. Hope, that quiet flower with hefty pedals that flourishes in the rain. The great illusion that walks through crowds of disheartened men like a spreading disease, infecting them as it passes. What need does hope have for a crowd when he can thrive off the pain of one man? He leans on the podium that overlooks the dispirited crowd. Leans in waiting with his infectious hands ready to engulf any new subjects who beckon him with their troubles. Been leaning there since before the sun first rose over the hills. Mark was bound to catch a glimpse of his dark shadow at any moment. He was anxious and terrified. Poor John! He should not have to view the dark effigy alone. Mark sent Alex in to shield his eyes but John said no. These blindfolds were meant to hide one's vision, but had no effect when faced with such a beast. He'd be spared as long as he focused on the light. He wasn't going to quiver in the wake of such power. That was what he believed. But Alex had told him differently, so he understood. And if he still had doubt, he was bound to find out soon, for people began looking to the sky. People who had never turned their gaze from the stage. Stared at the sky in silence. Reality, that bright cure, had shined over the crowd