Entry tags:

memes: 100 prompts, writing: fic (in comments or otherwise)

Notes: This came from thinking about Goblin Markets and parades and dancing in the streets. I don't know. I feel like I need an excuse for this one but I feel like that is counter-intuitive to the writing itself. *shakes head* Who knows.

What do we need?

Passion!

When do we need it?

Now!

What do we need?

Love!

When do we need it?

Now!

What do we need?

And it goes on and on, chanting and cheering a whopping into the sky. You dance with your firends, with people you've never met. You cry out to the cluds about healing and love and hope.and joy. You cry and dance and sing it to the world around you.

because that's what the world needs right now. It needs healers and hopers and dreamers and believes.

It needs storytellers and singers and creators of all kinds.

It needs people to dance on top of it, shake the ground with the stoping of their feet. it needs hearts racing, hands in the air, shouts of joy and laughter. It needs people like you and people like the ones you love and people like the curious onlookers and people who are being more than curious.

It needs so much and you can't give it all yourself, so you grab the nearest prson who is simply standing and you kiss them on the cheek, tell them they are beautiful and twirl away. You hope to everything they pass along the little bit of joy, the delight and happiness you tried to send to them.

You hop it infects them and it spreads like a virus. You ant to infect the world with the way you feel, with the joy and wonder and brilliant light inside you.

Someone near by wears a fox mask and you giggle as they meet with someone else who wears a coyote face instead of their own. You think it's beautiful, the way they dance together in the street, how they shed their human skin for a while in place of something else.

You wish you'd thought to bring a mask but all you've done is write on yourself, scripted out words that make you happy, words of comfort and desire and words that leave you nearly delerious with joy.

You move through the crowd, watching it, as it moves down the street, people spilling everywhere, spreading out into shops and resterautns. It's like blood, like water, like the rushing of emotion once the walls have been knocked down.

And you think to yourself "Yes, yes. I could live like this. I could exist here, in this momentk, for the rest of time."

And although you know yo9u can't, although you know that time will pass and the world will change and people will take of their masks and pretty clothes, you can still chant to yourself, you can still tell the strangers they are beautiful. You can still dance.