Milah Rian

Aspiring Writer

Peterborough, Canada


I am a born and raised Canadian woman. I am 19 years old. Over the period of my life, I have picked up and dropped writing a multitude of times. It has helped me define who I am, overcome obstacles and find my creativity. I love to think, I love to dream and more than all I love to write. I am extremely ambitious and I hope to become more serious about writing in the coming years.


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System Change not Climate Change

Nov 28, 2019 1 week ago

The sidewalk is stained and uneven. Presumably, the unevenness came first and tumbled the alcohol-filled bellies of the night folk, which in turn caused the stains. The people who surround me right now remind me of those night folk. They yell and stomp to the melody of their own voices. They bump into one another and pour their hearts out to the sky. Their energy is truly intoxicating, it envelops me and soon enough I am doing the same. We sing and we scream, and we cry. But it is not night time. All the bars and the clubs are closed. In fact, the sun shines so bright behind us that I can feel a puddle of sweat gathering on my lower back. We do not sing to music, we do not scream because we are free, and we do not cry for our own selfish reasons. We do it because we no longer have the choice not to. The strings of morality attach themselves to the crowd and move us forward like a winding snake, waiting to strike. Signs painted with pleas are pushed out of the crowd and then pulled back in. Their corners sharper than the ingrown toenail digging through my flesh. It's painful, but it's the kind of pain that is truly nothing. The kind of first world melodrama that manifests itself in different forms at the end of every week. What I am doing is supposed to be bigger than that, bigger than everything. A matter of death or even faster death. These are the words the wind speaks to us on a sweltering day in September. They begin their journey far north where melting glaciers screech profanity as they drown in the ocean below. Their cries are slowly moulded by time and space until they become digestible enough that they can be fed to our fragile egos. A man spits them out onto the sidewalk in front of our conservative representative. The crowd falls silent as this cartoon fool contorts and cusses until his face can no longer support a darker shade of red. In the distance, you can hear our glaciers moan as they accept defeat in this global game of telephone. Congratulations, you have succeeded in looking like an idiot in front of the man who just tried to tell us that solar energy works better in Europe because they are closer to the sun. Behind them, a window reflects a scene back to me. In the middle, two little boys point fingers at one another. Behind them, 600 people stand and watch. Reality TV has gotten quite predictable these days. The crowd seems to agree and slowly people die off until there are only a few of us left. We stand in a circle and listen. I don't know why I stayed, to be honest, I don't completely understand why I walked here in the first place. All I know is that what we did today feels important. We did not walk to get to a destination, we walked so that 50 years from now our kids can walk too. But their bellies will be full, and the moon will be shining and the only thing they will have to worry about is the uneven sidewalks.

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