(Dammit, gouging out some new furrows to make way for the primordial slime of what needs to be said. The Saltworks tends to lead one to this)
You’re so much the size of what you see down there wandering your way between the now and the has-been. Not yet the things to be though… any concept of this lost to the harsh nor ‘west wind withdrawing the ambition of family and the frightened souls of teachers trying to keep an even keel in the chaos of that small backwater world of the times. What had they been working on? No questions asked though. All part of the curriculum… and I promise to be good. I promise to help other people. I promise to obey the scout law. All coming down to pleasing the constructions you’ve made for yourself.
So much so that the only yearning taking place was the yearn to be even better than their expectations.
The magic in this though. Not guided by time. Not worth the extra thought. Not anything one would refer to as a form of reference. I shield. I yield. I tip my hat to the quagmire of ideas. Gone under to just this attitude. The blackness of the thread. Woven and/or interlaced through that fabric you’ve come to use as a map of sorts. The ambition perhaps. The dream perhaps. The prisoner in this tiny plot of self-construction.
Call it indoctrination. That image to live up to, even though it gave pain and fear. Don’t show it though. You had to learn to extinguish the life from any animal without hesitation (it was for their own good). Carry the heaviest load/shoulder the heaviest pack. You’ve got to have the muscle for it. Control any weight, wear the burden. It’ll be you soon. Sink the most piss without letting it show. Walk the proverbial straight line afterwards. What pressure? You’ll handle yourself in a scrap when the time comes. Only a split lip to tell the tail.