Bring out the dead

As the revolution proceeds, more and more of us awaken and stand up against them. But is it too late?

The quicksilver slush fund stolen from the people metamorphosed into a sell by date that came undone with the news that money was losing its value fast and so spend it now before it’s worthless.

The news of this spread to the four corners and was mirrored by the duffus exchange that fell through the roof of all the duffuses that had the god called money.

The big bomb fear was rolled out by the government to cause panic but everyone knew them by now for their lies and corruption and so they were ignored big time and laughed at until they all went red in the face with shame and had to go hide in the dark places of their worthless lives.

God bless the king went on the corruption trail news media and angered the statement all would be sent to hell if they didn’t obey, but this statement went to deaf ears because no one was listening to it anymore but had gone instead to celebrate their freedom at last from their corrupt masters who were not invited.

“Now you will pay,” said the masters as they turned off the food machine forgetting that it was the people who were in control of it and ran it from the ground up.

On another note, the ground gales of angry thoughts surged out and growled at everyone and then, wingless they bit the dust where they lay in a heap of emptiness that had nothing more to say but look extraneous and out of place, and like a gang of cut-throats banded close together and glared at anyone that gave them half an eye or a curious glance.

In the silence of this doom the number 37 came along dinging a little bell to announce its coming and, like Jesus raised from the dead, made a small swell through the surge that would eat the world into smashed and broken dinners sliding down the wall of where it lived.

“Bring out the dead,” said the number 37 dinging nervously on the bell.

Nobody moved or spoke, not even an eyebrow was raised, but silent tears came from the kitchen where the food was cooked and now only a ruin and served only as fuel to the ogre that was king in its domain and would hurt more from its smallness made so huge in the cave of its undoing where nothing could ever grow past the suppression it served to keep all as small as it.

“Fear me,” it said, and in a moment of madness beat upon that which it saw as a growing threat; or was it that it saw itself reflected from the eyes of innocence it would destroy and in its fear struck out at anything that would challenge it? Or perhaps in its unresolved hurt its only expression was to hurt others as badly as it had been hurt.

The mind in its closed loop of despair circles hopelessly, and with no way out is bound to repeat its mistakes and if not resolved will eventually die its death of regret and uselessness and leave behind a wake of malice and darkness in others it has touched.

If not healed then years and decades can go by in some kind of shell shocked depression where all joy is sub-muted and paralysed until eventually the pain of isolation hurts so much a cry for help comes from the depths to be answered.

To many this cry of help is heard as one more noise, something to be ridiculed or bullied, but to a few it is heard for what it is: a cry from the heart to be heard.

“Bring out the dead,” called the number 37 dinging away its bell down the long hallways of all the time gone. But the dead eat from paper plates all the love that can be scraped from the floor, and die each day until they are no more.

Over in a government department for the poor: 2 bits a word was increasing his salary by being a part of the government corruption machine but it was making him stink so much he began to lose his friends of integrity to the extent that he had only sycophants and dark souls for company who were dragging him down to their level and influencing him to become like them.

One morning he woke up covered in slime and he realised that if he carried on along this road he might have lots of money but it would be tainted and that all integrity and heart-worth feelings would also be tainted, and that eventually he would be alone to reap all his efforts in support of corruption.

Because he was so far sucked in, leaving would lose him everything, they would see to that. And maybe he would never be allowed to work again at what he was good at, they would see to that as well, but something was very wrong and he knew that if he didn’t leave it now he would be lost.

As he drafted a letter of resignation his heart began to feel lighter and although he had fear of the outcome he knew it was the right thing to do.

Meanwhile, in Britain, Jeremy Corbyn was getting ready for a general election...

End of part 97

Images from Pixabay

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