Someone Else’s World 

I will not fight. I reject the propaganda. They call it “fake news” now, I know, but that's just a rebrand. It's as old as war. A tale of how to be acceptable, a narrative, a script for those who find themselves unsure, confused, afraid. 

Today, I read another moving story of one who, having bravely conquered illness, is welcomed back into the world of the well. The names change but the outline is always the same: the challenge, the battle, the victory, the smiling portrait of an inspiration. 

I don't fit the role and so remain in exile, outside the walls. I overhear the questions, with their tone of suspicion. “Why won't she fight it?” “Is she really ill?” “I get tired too, you have to push through, don’t you?” “Why doesn't she just try harder?” “Doesn't she want to get better?” “It's all in her head really, isn't it?”   

I don't fight, but when this thing makes its malign existence known, with the first shimmer of migraine aura, or the chill before an advancing wave of fatigue, I give it a nod of recognition, sit down, and go on living in my peaceful world. 

contrails
across a clear sky
in seconds
someone else's world
reduced to rubble 

Drifting Sands Haibun Issue 33 September 2025