Defenestrate The Masses
The Words Of Conrad Miller
“Illuminated eyes Blink rhythmically. Soaks up the dark; An immovable force.”I am afraid the passage of time has dragged me back to reality. Like a dark malevolent force, it has crippled my bones, prevented full functionality and stolen my mind. I am not sure I have the capacity to finish my work. I have outlived those I knew, taken by the rot and corruption long before me. The days have been countless since I started this grand plan. Too much effort for so little reward. Should that be a question, rather than a sentence? I feel I have lost perspective, my mission begun so long ago that the fire that pushed me has flickered to embers. See! The skin glows bright! It is one step from life, imbued with the colour of health! But one step from life is not life. it has taken all I could give it. I sit here in my chair, no longer comforting my frame. I have decayed as the City has also. It just took longer in my case for the cracks to show. I think I have given up hope that my creation will be finished. It was a concept created by a much younger man, and it needs a much younger man to complete it. I have outlived my usefulness. I have no one; nothing. Oh, what will become of me? I am fading and have not the power to halt it! It has got beyond me, this idea, this salvation. And salvation for what? The Riddle is dead. The Phantasma is a shadow of former, more pronounced days when Skyships launched across the skies, carrying the great and good, when the Prefects of the Sky were young and in calf; when the Gasten were as bright as they could be, plentiful and proud. The Drift had such plans drawn for it, turned into a waste dump of discarded rubbish and discarded people. What is there for my creation to aid? What is left of the world to save? I look into the future as I sit here, seeing only death and destruction. Why was I so naïve, to assume I had the answers? That I alone could create the solution, spending much of my productive life chained to the laboratory table? I have failed. There is no reason for me to remain. And yet the chair has me, in its grip. Here I shall remain, it seems.
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