The trouble with giving people the freedom of choice is, sometimes, they make the wrong one.
It was just another election in yet another year that most people paid no attention to. The day to day grind of work, play, and sleep can really wear down the senses and lull one into a lack of care for anything of the outside world.
One day after another, the cycle of politicians spouting their rhetoric on television screens across the nation kept those who did pay attention to such things rapt with the constant hammer fall of this issue or that, and, of course, accusatory words flew from people’s lips as the blame game was played.
Dirty tricks and dirtier politics made the headlines as this revelation or that came out about the electees and, one after another, they dropped from the races they were in, crying foul and taking no responsibility for their actions or their constituents they let down.
Oh, they would come on the stage of the nation’s media, carting their dutiful families in tow, including the wife who shed tears as she looked with forgiving glances at the husband who betrayed them, while promises of “doing better for my family” drifted from their tongues. Those kept the people of the nation the most intrigued. After all, the media, itself, lives by the adage of, “Sex sells, and if it bleeds, it leads.”
They were always pros at making sure those scenes played out for the masses, one cavalcade of smut and aggression after another.
People tired of it, of course, and as the weeks became months, the constant drum beat of hateful talk and baleful would-be tyrants the amount of those who could keep up interest dwindled considerably. When it was only weeks away from that final moment, the day on which the die would be cast and the chosen ones would make their way down the streets in parades, something new came on the scene.
Something that would alter everything we knew and held dear.
Something that would force a choice that we can never go back on.
Maybe it was one politician too many spewing hateful rhetoric. Maybe it was done on behalf of a giant conspiracy that wanted to change the world in their own way. No one really knows for sure, and by this time, I suppose it doesn’t really matter.
It was such a small spark, a tiny echo that became a storm that destroyed everything we knew and changed us all.
For the better?
That is yet to be seen.
It happened in Chicago. Have you heard of it? Maybe. I know there are whispers of the old names sometimes in the dark, people telling stories of how things used to be.
Some years before all of this began, a bomb had gone missing. Oh, this was not just any bomb, dear one. It was something massive. They called it a suitcase bomb, of all things. A small package with devastating consequences.
When it went off, it caused damage, of course. But the real problem wasn’t the structures that fell or the people who were killed, though there was a lot of that.
No, the real issue was what else was in that bomb. A large vial was embedded in it, which threw out great amounts of a liquid that in turn contained small things.
Bacteria. You’ve heard of that, of course, I know you have. It’s what we have to watch out for when you get a scrape or sick. Little creatures that fill up your system and make you dead.
That was what happened back then, too, you see? Tiny creatures, so small you’d not be able to even look at them without something special on your eyes, those got into the air and started to spread.
By the time it was done and it had burned itself out, the great town that had been known as Chicago had been taken out completely, left to ruins for fear of anyone going there starting it all over again.
That fear became so great, in fact, the next, harsher option was decided. The town had to go, the risk too large for things to ever resolve.
Oh, the politicians screamed about it, in those weeks leading up to the election. They talked at great length about how Chicago was a symbol. Both sides claimed this, of course, but one was sure that the rebuilding of that once-majestic town would be the pinnacle of strength, a show of force to prove that the nation’s spirit was indomitable and sure.
The other side, the more popular option, was that it had to be cleansed in a sacrifice, to show strength lay in resolve to do what was necessary for the sake of the nation’s heart. To throw it into the pit of sacrifice was the ultimate expression of security.
The leader at the time, a trembling and fearful fellow, really, decided to make that choice, and sparked off the terror our lives today have become.
It’s all about those choices, see? The first was to allow the rhetoric of hateful people spewing their disease across waves of air to be broadcast to begin with, but that was all for the sake of the money they held so devotedly to then. People sat in their chairs and watched the flickering images, all while advertisements for one stupid product or another danced across the screens in between, and the cash registers churned out more money to give more luxury to those who already had it all.
The next choice was the person, or group of people, perhaps, who decided the best course of action to take in response to it all was to detonate something fantastic and horrible, the culmination of all of mankind’s dedication to the god of science.
Choice. Sometimes the wrong choice is the only one, especially in a world gone mad, drunk on its own blood and iniquity.
The other nations saw the fall of Chicago and the subsequent detonation of another device in its center, to eradicate any trace of what might be left hidden in the ruins, as a sign of the bleeding out of the country.
They had been waiting a long time to see her limping, the smell of blood high in the air too much for their ravenous hearts to resist.
They pounced, on the day the election happened, twenty countries combining together to strike a final, massive blow to her heart.
She was not as frail and toothless as they thought, however, and soon enough her own missiles were flying.
One after another took to the sky, spreading death across the world. Oh and the nation was not the only one to take part in this choice. No, many others did, as well, retaliations and preemptions sought out the throats of everyone they could, and old grudges were resolved in the heartbeat the flashes took to end it all.
We huddle, now, at the fringes of places once thought unsurvivable, we thin groups seeking warmth and anything left to scavenge to fill our bellies.
And we tell each other these stories, reminding us of the past that once was and never shall be again, so we can, perhaps, make the right choices in the future.
You, child, are my own choice, bringing you here into this circle of the light of the fire to talk about what our fathers did to us, and, some day, you’ll have to make your own choice of telling your child.
Now don’t be frightened. Let’s see, do you want the venison, or the corn? There’s not much left of either, but we’ll see what more we can find tomorrow.
