A Prophet Without Honor As we sat huddled closely together around the bonfire to keep warm, that strange but gentle Old Man continued his tale haltingly, with tears filling his grey eyes: “…And thus the republic plummeted into a rapacious democracy. There were no longer any concerted efforts expended towards digging our swollen fingers into the sharp and craggy rocks, in order to arrest our inexorable descent down into that distant ravine. And so, as the commanding passion of envy seized hold of the majority’s collective consciousness, which incoherently and paradoxically desired the narcotic of unfettered freedom and the alluring aroma of the Socialist dream, The grave American Atlas, growing weary of his burden, shrugged his shoulders, and became as one with the outer darkness.” Trembling in weathered clothes that bespoke of better days, he grew agitated: “You see children, we had all forgotten who we were and since all the mouths of authority had become echoes of one another, there was no credible voice left to warn us away from the stunning folly of our actions. It was as if we were being led by the nose to some terrible judgment. After the world abandoned our devalued currency and our own leaders realized that no one would lend us any more money, the slow poison of hyperinflation became our only avenue left. By strangling the Golden Goose, we sealed the fate of America. And now, all we have left to look forward to are those crumbs which line your shabby little pockets. If only we could return to our Constitution, in order to shock and awaken us from this sickness unto death.” When he finished, he shook his disheveled hair and pulling his long coat tightly around himself, disappeared into the chilled night air. We looked at one another speechless for a long time, and then some of us started to laugh so loudly that they rocked back into the rotten garbage that surrounded us. But a few, mostly girls, I could tell were crying. I guess that crazy old goat had frightened them. I, for one, had heard this all before. Those crazy stories of buildings full of food and rows of street lights that stayed lit all night. Tales of a place where there was enough to eat. Imagine that! No, this was another one of those lunatics left over from before “The Great Change.” Another God-damned sentimental madman who thought it was his duty to tell us kids how great things were before we were all made equal by the Great Men in the Towers who are kind enough, with only a few weekly exceptions, to hand over to us our equal daily rations of black bread.
Posted on: Sat, 21 Sep 2013 03:13:05 +0000
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