This overall, is a sentiment to those that haven't given up and for those that see darkness, light is around the corner, even if it's the tiniest slip of crescent moon light hidden among a universe of cloud.
"Every day may not be good, however there is goodness in every day."
premise.
A single scream echoed through the towering forest, soaking into newly dampened trees courtesy of the previous four-hour downpour now reduced to a mere drizzle. Mud slurched under tired worn out K-MART boots, the thin soles a reminder that the stressed footwear would allow the days puddles an entry to cheap cloth and bare skin sure to blister after pruning like a sponge. However, beaten-up shoes were always a preference over a destroyed soul, a broken down home- civilisation. In common knowledge, a rainbow would appear after the dissonance of a deluge, however with large eucalyptus and maple trees casting a canopy among an inundation of foliage, a mere glimpse of hope with a sight of atmospheric solar spectrum would come as another generation's blue moon passed. An impossibility to the present.
However, the will to continue on, would remain as it had previously, unstoppable in the face of disaster. For they were the runaways; hunted, haunted and above all heroes to their own stories.
It's hard to explain how everything ended up this way, a life expected prosperous at birth reduced to a faded footprint and an exaggerated tell-all tale, told by corrupt government organisations in desperate need of a hobby, in desperate need of a cover-up. And, what would it matter if a child of the state; - foster children, took the abrasive cut? Their stories never known, merely a blip of time to over thirty foster carers, all reported to be a nuisance unable to be controlled, unable to sit still in the face of constant humiliation, their existence a pay check or a maid's position, albeit advertised with straight pearly white teeth and smiles that could rival a young pageant queen's, lives saved by kindred souls and organisations from neglect, abuse and mere abandonment. In reality, those lives died each night to face the oncoming onslaught of days, weeks and months of similar fates.
Those fates easily manipulated and altered to fit any story needing to be told, and now those few selected lives were flailing in puddles caused by a four hour downpour in the middle of a forest that no-one knew the name of. Those fates officially Canada's most wanted. All entwined with a lie. All perfectly forgettable until now.