I just want to walk into a department store and pull all the tinsel down around me. I want to rip all the Christmas lights from the walls and tear the speakers to the ground, screaming to the heavens as Security swamp me, shouting “It’s not even fucking December yet!” Mounting a war on Christmas.
I wanna go into a bookstore and take all the Bibles and Qurans and the fucking Vedas and put them next to L. Ron Hubbard’s books in the fiction section.
I want to walk into a bank and cry at the feet of some millionaire, whispering near incoherently “Why can’t we just start again?”
I want to forget the world and every damned thing in it for ten minutes and look at you and realise that everything is going to be alright – even though it won’t be.
I want to open the floodgates and fill all the Earth with the boiling, frothy detritus of your industry and push you all off my raft and die alone.
It’s only a hollow victory – but maybe then God who look down and apologise. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” Or maybe he’ll ask “Where has my collection gone?”
And maybe then we’ll be able to start over.
Written for this week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge prompt Hollow.