When first one wakes and walks the streets of modern Metro a greeting arises in the form of homeless
hucksters yelling out the sales for the day. Their plight on market like a gutted fish, hanging in the
forgetting breeze. And each shaky hand holds a ballot box that each citizen drops their nomination in. This single coin vote for best story
passes blindly into the rafters like so many released expectations. The words fall fallow on heavy hearts and
empty ears as most just try to keep on walking to their day job, perhaps on break to catch a quick caffeine
fix.
And how different we are! Than these addicts, these people who dwell in the places we just pass when
trying to get somewhere. How different our lives must be. As we wake in a comfortable bed and watch the
artificial sunrise of morning news, bask in the comforting rays of warm, sterling white teeth, and push
through the loam of manufactured clothing we convince ourselves that we are natural. That we are healthy.
With chemical spills on our shirts leaving stains in our brain, frightfully wondering if it will ever wash
out.
As you pass them, doing the hardest dance you will ever have to do, you catch fleetingly just a
slight glimmer in their eyes. And you wonder. A rare jewel in an age of poverty has no worth. You hold the
gem and it glimmers, but for whom? Only in times of decadence can such pristine filth hold value. But we are
too poor. To us the glimmer is a shard of sunlight splintering off the rough hewn reflection of modality. And
it occurs that conflict is the cause of the sharpness. The interplay of earth to air excites your eyes as it
refuses to take corporal form. And we all grew up with velociraptors awaiting the rapture of minds blending
into technology. Fasting on emails and crossed signals. Wondering if we're alone inside our own castles.
And the dwarves you see lack the technology. Do you think they know of Twitter in Africa? We keep
them around to let us know how far we've come from our mud huts. From our street corners. From our ascendancy.
How far now are we removed from our need to survive? To the daily offerings of the supermarket of food from forsaken places.
And how much further are we from them as they are from us? The global uplink seeps insipidly onward
to the first star at sunrise. A Shining beacon of hope that we forget that we too had to learn how to type.
And that the keyboard is now an extension of our soul.
That the world exists solely as lit LEDs in our bedrooms.
Deep bro...real deep :monocle:
I really like this! You are a great writer. I wonder, what kind of books do you read?
This was very well written. It's deep, I like that. c:
~~shadowwolf
Why does the last three sentences of this remind me of a William Gibson novel? heh, it doesn't matter if I think this pondering is similar to one of my favorite authors or not, it was still a enjoyable read.
Kudos, Ember.