For all of humanity, there is always one that flows on. No station can hold him, no anchor weights him down. He flows from home to house, door to floor seeking a warm bed and seeing everything in between. Some see these drifters as the homeless, some of these drifters are just people that see all around them, and chose to act. Sometimes to be a part of something it means being blind, it means turning a blind eye to actions of another to ensure you keep the peace, drifters follow no such rule.
These Drifters are protectors, keepers and doctors. They come into things at the right moment, and leave just at the same time, and always taking more weight on their own shoulders then those they left. For Drifters have to make themselves the object of destruction, they take all the bad, and expel it. This cure means they take the bad on themselves, they aren’t always bad people but they become seen as it.
This drifter is a fixer, a doctor and observer, he doesn’t mean to do what he does, it just happens like the fall of the wind, the change of the weather. He knows it will happen, he knew it would, he might cry out “ no more!” but it never stops. In this case, he flowed into a house, a house of 4. He never wanted to enter but he was invited, he was welcomed and encouraged. Before long he saw why he was there, he saw the cracks. He knew what would happen but he denied it would, he hoped it couldn’t. Like always he put himself forward, he worked his joyful fun and created friendship. Before long he was welcome, and before long he saw the cracks closer than ever before, and he feared what would happen. His fingers got itchy, he knew the signs. He tried to leave, but before long they had pulled him back. He had debts to pay. And now the signs got stronger, and louder than before. It was too late. The cogs had spun and the damage was done, for he didn’t do anything but be. A drifter adds a element to a function which isn’t normal, it shows people what could be, would be and will be. It makes them question and act. And now it was too late. The aggression raised, temper flared and he knew it was time. He set the scene, invited those that would attend, they feasted, they laughed and filled his memories with joy. For in the dark hours of his mind, that’s all he has left… the memories. That evening it snapped, the first crack showed, then it splintered, before day break it was smashed. As he saw off the house, he looked back, wishing he’ wasn’t who he was. But sometimes someone has to be the evil, the lie, the face of pain to bring things stronger to give people hope.
And so as always this story started how it ended, with one foot in front of the other.