Sometimes,
things just have to happen. You do not have a say in it. They have to
happen. As painful and as disconcerting and scary as each step may
be, your on auto-pilot.
Once
things have been pushed so far... you do not have control over the
decisions that are made. Sometimes, no matter what anyone says, you
don’t have a choice.
The
sky burnt red over the smog filled, soul crushing city as the black
smoke rose from a car fire. Lit by one of the confused punks who
believed that a few fires would do anything except earn the wrath of
the police. The message was clear but no one was listening. A group
of young, testosterone junkies yelling into the wind and the wind
does not respect fools.
He
sit watching the skyline slowly turn black as rubber tires burnt 50
stories below. The revolution was as hollow and empty as his heart.
The messiah was as fake as the message he broadcast and if the
populace had realised, he would have been exiled to some menial task
in an cubical farm office where no one would have noticed him or
heard a word he had to say.
Roaming,
leather clad punks scurried back and forth like rats in the streets
that ran like spider veins. Car alarms, breaking windows and the
roaring of fireballs filled the evening air. The noise that grated
his ears was replaced with the anarchy he craved but the taste was
just as bitter as the fruits he was forced to eat before the
“revolution”.
Across
the tarmac, from the 52nd floor, a desk was hurled from
the window, spewing glass and papers down to the concrete below, the
desk turning weightless for a fleeting second before gravity turned
its vulgar gaze in its direction and sent it hurtling downward.
Police
fired handguns at the rapidly approaching crowd but with each fallen
cell the organism grew louder, stronger and very, very angry. The
beast could not be killed so easily, as the policemen turned to run,
the mob gained speed and without effort the few policemen brave
enough to face the storm were tackled, beaten, robbed of their
weapons and power and devoured.
This
would be all for nothing in time, power is never lost for long.
He
watched the massing from safety, not wanting to get his hands dirty.
Always a coward. He watched the streets turn from grey to throbbing
black as the movement swelled, heaved and shouted as one
unintelligible breast. Meaningless, inarticulate shouting that
signified nothing and would be forgotten as soon as the last syllable
was exhaled.
Shouts
of liberal, leftist rubbish replaced the alarms as the masses found a
voice. Condemning the “fascist, right wing lackeys” all the while
and unknowingly imitating them. The thrill of the barbarian, always
just underneath the skin, pulled into life by a few well chosen words
but destined to fail.
From
a right hand corner a squad of green dressed solders rushed into
position, assault rifles raised, waiting for the final command to
quash the rebellion. As the black animal mass rushed towards them a
volley of small, brass covered lead bullets erupted from the 15
barrels simultaneously. The first wave of grunts hit the pavement and
slowly, the hot, dark blood leaked onto the sun warmed tarmac.
Another
and another and another volley, more and more of his disciples fell.
The coward watched as more and more foolish young bodies lined the
street. The realisation of the futility of their efforts started to
ring in their ears with the echoes of the gunfire and the mob ran
down alleys and side streets as the hard faced, determined squad
ended the lives of the few stragglers, desperate to get away from
their executioners.
The
consequences of every act, are contained in the act itself.
A
helicopter swooped overhead, looking for the few who still held
corruption and dissension in their hearts. The coward hid behind an
air conditioning unit. The foul smell of recycled dust and stale air
filled his nostrils as a neon white spotlight illuminated his hiding
spot. Fear and panic filled his heart and to his surprise a hot
stream of urine filled his lap.
Tears
of panic welled and shot from his eyes like a geyser and he started
weeping uncontrollably. Soon there was the tramp of steel-toed boots
emanating from the fire escape as a squad of black uniformed,
faceless police burst through the fire escape and surrounded the
pathetic, cowardly “saviour”.
He
was lifted by his neck and lead to the ledge of the building, held by
neck, leg and arm he was made to see the extent of his doing. The
dead bodies laying motionless in pools of black blood, the burning
store fronts and cars, the shimmering pieces of broken glass, the
smoke rising like ladders to the sky.
He
cried. He cried and cried and cried, he cried from fear, from panic,
from not knowing what the officers would do next. But not for what he
had done, for what he had caused, for the lives his actions, words
and deeds had taken.
He
was thrown back onto the tiles of the roof and a black cotton bag was
thrust over his head while his hands and feet were Flexi-cuffed. He
was carried away as the final gunshots echoed from the street
below...
