Defenestrate The Masses
The Words Of Conrad Miller
I read it from graffiti, etched onto the seat in front of me, “From ground we emerge To those who serve, Or out of time To a life sublime.”Just how free we are, I allowed myself to dream, travelling westward on the Skycraft. Free up here, amongst the glowing people with influence and power. The dancing sky creatures mirrored that freedom, in contrast to the creatures of the Below, who marked their position in their own idiom; corrupt, rusted, filled with venom and bile. It was often a point of humour in the Above, that many of us were the genetic descendants of those same creatures.How is it that the ones with power, with riches, with money assume they are the most hard done by? That they are owed a living by the little people? Comparatively speaking, perhaps there was a point of grievance. But they had the support structure of the ones keeping them in power in order to manipulate rewards for the both of them. They didn’t understand real pain. They didn’t understand real hardship, but then again they didn’t care, it being something they never had to face in their lifetime. However, it had an accumulative effect. The government was eating itself, using its own resources to bring about its own destruction. They no longer understood the will of the people.I had sat idle for far too long. I watched as they systematically took that good work apart, what the Builders had slowly and meticulously spent in growing the City to a state they were proud of. But Hell was other people. People were destructive by nature. Parasites leeching resources from the host. Only one man was about to prosper; Daedalus Devereaux who was slowly seizing power from the old tired establishment, spreading his cancer, gaining strength from feeding on the power, using propaganda on both sides, wooing the people unimpeded.Of course it had to go as low as it could before it could rise again. The people in power couldn’t see the world collapsing around them, could not see it coming, this destruction. And those who could see its rise and fall, well, their protestations would fall on deaf ears. The ones in power didn’t want to hear criticism. Why would they, when they assured themselves they were in the right?As I alighted the Skycraft, a glimmer of hope presented itself, a point of speculation or inspiration. I was in the Riddle, or the City as many preferred to call it. I was walking towards the Pyramid, the dazzling panes of its exterior lighting a nearby building where the hand of a statue that adorned the roof of that building now housed shelter for a scattered shrub, beginning to flower when all around it was function. Buildings were of neutral colour, as anything other would take from the desired starkness of the uniformity of regression. Yet here there was colour, beauty out of destruction. Something new where there once was nothing. And left unimpeded it would grow, take a section of the ground for its own, breed, push out further into the City. It could bring something delightful, even useful out of the grey dullness. It could bring hope where once there was despair. Then a small black bird danced and settled on the thicket, beginning to preen its feathers, taking a moment of respite in the shade of this colour. That’s when it came to me, the inspiration. I knew what I had to do.
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