You disgust me, world.
And that’s a given. I mean you have to be cruel and take us on this roller coaster many of us would rather not be on. This is why if I had fifteen minutes, I’d politely ask you to stop for fifteen minutes. Of course, my politeness would be overridden by the sounds of drones and gunshots, rush-hour traffic, parents yelling at their children, someone growing up, children screaming their fun at playgrounds, people on their cellphones, couples arguing, someone worrying, someone graduating, babies crying, music playing, televisions talking, and even by the people walking.
That’s why I’d politely ask the people to stop for fifteen minutes. Everyone would stop, eventually, if you, my dear world, stopped rotating – at that point, people would want to know why you stopped moving. That’s where my “broadcast” would come in.
Hypothetically, if everything goes well, I’d get people to stop talking. All that would be allowed in those fifteen minutes while everything is frozen is for people to listen.
I’d tell them to go to the nearest wall – or anything that can be written on – and write the name of someone or something they lost and how. It could be due to natural death, due to murder, due to disease, due to accident, due to war, due to sacrifice, or even due to change. They don’t even have to know the person or the thing they lost – if the name stuck out to you at one point, write it.
For the remainder of this frozen time where the world is doing nothing but listening, I’d ask people to go for a walk and read what everyone else wrote on whatever they chose to write on.
But fifteen minutes are only a few blinks of an eye and probably only a few hundred steps of walking, so before I know it – before anyone knows it – time is up, you, cruel yet lovable world, are rotating, and everyone is back to worrying, crying, talking, and anything else you can think of that you normally do when the “world isn’t frozen for fifteen minutes”.
What truly froze after those fifteen minutes are the names of people and things put up for everyone to see. It doesn’t bring anyone or anything that was lost back, but if we read those causes – the causes that have a potential to be prevented – such as war, famine, and accidents, perhaps, we’d take a few minutes to think about them – not to feel sad or pity on “what was,” but to do something about it.
And maybe if we aren’t caught up in the jumble we call life because you, sweet world, draw us in to do, we would notice those names. If we’re lucky, someone would stop their train of thought for another fifteen minutes and think of ways to prevent things like what we read from happening in the future and work – and ask people to stop for another fifteen minutes to write ways to work on a “better” you, world, so the next time you freeze when you are asked to, names that didn’t have to be on the wall aren’t – and for good reason.