Self- Discipline:
The warm wind blew softly past my face. I heard the sound of grass crunching beneath my feet. It had only been a few minutes since they had let us out of the car; the hand gripped tighter pulling me further into the unknown… I was blindfolded. No one spoke, I only heard soft breathing from the others around me. Where were they leading us? We came to a stop; no one talked, but I heard the thousands of questions racing through everyone’s mind because they were the same as my own. A voice spoke, he told us remove our blindfolds and remain silent out of respect for the dead. My hands began to untie the orange bandana that was blinding my eyes. I blinked once or twice and found myself surrounded by tombstones. They had brought us to a cemetery. They directed us to a very large grave in the middle. I saw the city lights from a distance and the half covered moon as I took my seat on the soft, wet grass. We sat there, waiting, wondering and even with our sight returned we still had no idea why we were brought to this place of forgotten dreams. Our leaders began to speak telling us about how short life is and how any second it can end. They spoke of the people now marked with a tombstone; about how their story was over and how they had already had their chance to live, to make an impact… or not.
Still listening, my eyes gazed over the many graves surrounding me. Questions still raced through my mind, but questions of a different sort, questions about these people buried so deep in the ground- were their dreams buried with them? Who were these people, what were their joys, what made them smile, who made them smile? How did they shape their world and how did they make it better. How many never got the chance? What stopped them? Fear, discouragement, doubt; what stopped them from doing what their heart desired? Are there doctors lying here, musicians, storytellers or perhaps housewives, fathers or good husbands? How many became that doctor, storyteller or husband and how many ran with full speed ahead? What dreams lay in the darkness because fear crept in and stole what they held so dear? I stared once again toward the city lights and now wondered about those people… Are they going to live out their dreams or shall they be buried with all that they could have been beneath the ground? I wept inside for those whose story had been written and wept for those who were afraid to start writing it. The night came to a close as we rose back up and made our way to the cars. I took one last look at the tombstones sitting there, unmoving, unfeeling, just there. I didn’t just want to be there, just something to take up space, I wanted more, more than a half-written story, more than a tombstone, more than just hoping my dreams and desires would someday come to pass. I wanted more than a field of forgotten dreams.
Written by Go Intern: Caleb Hutton