Today on Drabble Wednesday we walk in the valley of the shadow of Death…
A bloom plucked, wilted on its stem, dried petals tumbling to the earth. Age and time called Death’s hand, and turned a rose to dust.
“So beautiful, once.”
The desiccated petals scattered to the wind, bits of mummified life, of membrane and skin peeled off and abandoned to generations.
“So lost, so alone.”
Little more than a husk, shrivelled, thorns still clinging, next to a fragmented blossom speck or two not yet gone. That tiny spark of life, refusing to accept the inescapable.
“Come with me. I am all you have left.”
Last petals falling, into the embrace of Death.
Death comes on swift wings, swooping towards the battlefield like a dark sheathed Valkyrie. It walks the blood soaked earth, its touch indiscriminate, in that final illustration of fragile mortality. It is inevitably drawn here, to the best of feeding grounds.
Death’s shadow stalks every breath, civilian and combatant, the bystander and the blood-stained. It flies with every bullet, and strides in every footstep. It consumes in fire, in ruin, in rivers of blood, with no mercy, no preference. Death cares not for ideology, politics, religion, nor race. It simply comes.
It comes for us all… why help it along?
The Price of Fear
Them, Us. Us, Them.
Drawn the lines, build the walls. Keep the danger out. Keep it out. Keep Them out.
Is your neighbour the right kind? Be suspicious. Voice your suspicions. Suspicions constructed on fear.
Should you be afraid?
Fear the difference. Difference is bad.
Bad must be destroyed. Bad can hurt us. Keep the traditions, keep everything pure. Get angry.
Should you be angry?
Time to take back. Speak up. Rise up.
Scream, Kick, Punch, Lynch. Riot, Bomb, Terrorize.
Kill Them all.
Lay waste to human lives.
Lay waste to the world.
Because that solves the problem.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved