Only one more hour to go. Sixty more minutes. I never thought I would end up here, that we would end up here.
Sixty more minutes until the end. Until nothingness. Until the final push in a losing battle. The final gasped breathe of a dying revolution to coincide with the final breathe of everything. A beautiful swan song to be remembered by no one.
A once noble cause perverted into a call to arms, a battle cry. The difference between the indifferent and the particular. The meek and the loud. Those who found themselves sick of the ruling obnoxious, find ourselves obnoxiously poor losers. Those who screamed loudest for power, ended by a powerful loudness of their enemies. In just one hour.
Their execution has been near flawless. Their armies commanding. Their people resilient. Their celebrations arrogant. An earned arrogance, detestable by those who oppose them. Their execution has been near flawless. But not flawless.
Their failure lies in their inability to believe that we could be bold. Their belief that because we chose never to be brash, or cruel, or vile, that we couldn’t. Their belief that we could not do anything as devastating, as horrible, and as complete as we intend to. In just sixty minutes.
What started as a difference of opinion, a variance in a choice of lifestyle, in character, will lead to the end of all lifestyles, of all characters who’ve played a role in a now seemingly meaningless fight. A battle over something so unimportant to be the end of everything. A dispute amongst the spoiled over what should be deemed important, irrelevant now. One last push in a losing battle by a side too caught up in the flaws of their opponents to notice the flaws within themselves. Too caught up in degrading our opponent’s relentless pursuit of winning in everything to notice the ridiculousness of our own necessity to not lose. Our necessity for the last push. A beautiful swan song, by an ugly outfit, to be remembered by no one.
The condition of this world driven to despair by a society once reveled in glory and adoration. The condition of its people left wounded by a blind rage from a difference not so different at all. A difference exponentially exaggerated through pettiness, through pride, through boredom. The condition of ourselves driven to indifference through over analysis and egotism. Each of us with our own conditions, varying in terms and the prescribed medicines to combat them. Varying in definitions and described severities yet similar in one underlying condition which creates these symptoms. An underlying condition in vanity, in self-importance. An underlying theme in which we must define our flaws in terms of medical conditions and combat them with chemicals in an attempt to lay blame outside of ourselves. A condition where we are unable to accept that we are flawed as a species. As a society. A condition in which we must prove our own perfection by fighting and killing those who disagree with us. A condition in which a small disparity in belief of significance is met with such intolerance that we will choose to end everything rather than let the opposition define us. In just one hour.
One hour to go. Sixty more minutes. I don’t know how I ended up here. How we got here. Sixty more minutes until the final push in a losing battle. An awful attempt at a swan song by an inherently flawed people. A great and final representation of a society who’ve arrogantly preferred to overdo things. A final prescription for our greatest condition. The human condition.
