He filled his lungs and screamed.
The words themselves were redundant; all he cared about was the noise, the need to be heard, the need to be noticed. Again and again he bellowed, losing himself in the feeling, the emotion.
Was it hatred, or despair?
Was it because he was afraid, or empowered?
The emotions themselves were blurred together; all he cared about were the people with their banners, their rainbow flags and their leather trousers. The smiles on their faces and their hands clasped together. He cared about the grass beneath their feet, being trampled by the crowds defiling his garden, and his space. …How dare they?!
He screamed and yelled, throwing all of his spite and hatred at them, begrudging them their parade and their community. Their complete and utter disobedience with nature.

But these were lost as mere syllables, lost and drowned out by the wind, the same wind that was pushing this crowd forward. They were empowered, and did not notice him. Those who did look his way saw nothing but a statue.
Despite all his protestations, that is what he remained: A statue, cold and impassable.
A relic, unwanted.


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