Despicable Me
Well-known member
What is there to do in a society that doesn't want you to exist?
Blamed, hated, and hunted merely because someone didn't like your beliefs. Only because others got misinformation about you and you just happened to be born into this society that condemned people like yourself merely for being on the bad-end of that misinformation. Put to the stake for the transgressions of others.
What are you to do? When paraded around the village with a scarlet letter, knowing you're only a footstep away from the edge and being constantly pushed towards the stake or the axe, what is there truly left for you to do but take that last step?
My imagination runs wild with fantasies and I want to stand up and speak out, believing that if I yell loud enough with enough passion that people will stop for a moment to hear the on-going screams or perhaps they will hear the anger and pain in my voice and join with me to battle these injustices based purely on their morals or sense of ethics. However, I can only dream this.
When I speak in truth I only hear more condemnation? No one heeds my call. Is this dystopia and I awaken into a living nightmare each and every day? Why must it be like this? Is there no Sanctuary?
This is the distinction between our dreams and nightmares, two extreme states of the same entity. Reality hovers somewhere inbetween but closer to a nightmare than anyone would ever like to imagine. So, why does it seem like so few ever truly see this? And the few who are with me, why are they not truly with me? Why are they so afraid?
With such situations too harsh to imagine I slowly drift apart from reality. In constant disbelief I'm not sure I am going to hold on much longer to this world. In a constant war inside and out, I am constantly in battle. But I am so tired. What is left of a person so scarred and torn by battle that he remembers nothing else, not even joy? And what if this is someone born onto the battlefield and knows nothing else? Fighting for life every day takes its toll. What if he only knows joy from the blood lust? How would such a person even know the distinction between joy and pain at all? How would such a person ever even know peace? Is it even possible?
What is there to do? They tell you to line up, and they never tell you why. Yet I know I am in line for the Guillotine. I'm watching as heads roll, and I can say nothing. I can say nothing because I am their enemy. The enemy that they created in their own minds, in their nightmares. The enemy that likely never existed at all in reality. Yet here I am, standing in this fictional world made of other people's nightmares and yet I am the one who has to pay the price?
What are my options at this point? At this point I have pretty much learned to enjoy the bite of the fires below, and the dull pain of blade above. Maybe I really am a witch after all?
And if I am a witch, am I the last of my kind? Have they slaughtered all the others? Or maybe I was the first? Am I truly alone?
Blamed, hated, and hunted merely because someone didn't like your beliefs. Only because others got misinformation about you and you just happened to be born into this society that condemned people like yourself merely for being on the bad-end of that misinformation. Put to the stake for the transgressions of others.
What are you to do? When paraded around the village with a scarlet letter, knowing you're only a footstep away from the edge and being constantly pushed towards the stake or the axe, what is there truly left for you to do but take that last step?
My imagination runs wild with fantasies and I want to stand up and speak out, believing that if I yell loud enough with enough passion that people will stop for a moment to hear the on-going screams or perhaps they will hear the anger and pain in my voice and join with me to battle these injustices based purely on their morals or sense of ethics. However, I can only dream this.
When I speak in truth I only hear more condemnation? No one heeds my call. Is this dystopia and I awaken into a living nightmare each and every day? Why must it be like this? Is there no Sanctuary?
This is the distinction between our dreams and nightmares, two extreme states of the same entity. Reality hovers somewhere inbetween but closer to a nightmare than anyone would ever like to imagine. So, why does it seem like so few ever truly see this? And the few who are with me, why are they not truly with me? Why are they so afraid?
With such situations too harsh to imagine I slowly drift apart from reality. In constant disbelief I'm not sure I am going to hold on much longer to this world. In a constant war inside and out, I am constantly in battle. But I am so tired. What is left of a person so scarred and torn by battle that he remembers nothing else, not even joy? And what if this is someone born onto the battlefield and knows nothing else? Fighting for life every day takes its toll. What if he only knows joy from the blood lust? How would such a person even know the distinction between joy and pain at all? How would such a person ever even know peace? Is it even possible?
What is there to do? They tell you to line up, and they never tell you why. Yet I know I am in line for the Guillotine. I'm watching as heads roll, and I can say nothing. I can say nothing because I am their enemy. The enemy that they created in their own minds, in their nightmares. The enemy that likely never existed at all in reality. Yet here I am, standing in this fictional world made of other people's nightmares and yet I am the one who has to pay the price?
What are my options at this point? At this point I have pretty much learned to enjoy the bite of the fires below, and the dull pain of blade above. Maybe I really am a witch after all?
And if I am a witch, am I the last of my kind? Have they slaughtered all the others? Or maybe I was the first? Am I truly alone?