Sadly Sadistic

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A cruel system rules and directly affects the life of a man who has stolen trash from the rich to feed his family.

Submitted: August 14, 2008

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Submitted: August 14, 2008

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Sadly Sadistic

A Short Story by PRY

 
 

I will not blazon this story; I will only show you what I see. I live in this twisted world, this sadistic place of inhumane scourging and thought, in the only city that feeds on crime and most of all punishment.

The world has been vitiated for time beyond memory. Many attempted to expostulate the few when the establishment of this system began. The remaining undecided population sat in indifference while the protesters constantly threw caveats in their direction. Aspersions were thrown back. People knew though that those people’s deaths would not be due to ignorance but arrogance. What seemed axiomatic to most fell short in the understanding of others.

When the objections failed to achieve their goal of preventing the new system, the objectors began their attempts to wheedle the big men. This attempt to assuage the situation also failed. The chance to mitigate the state of affairs was over. Now ninety percent of the population was disconcerted by what faced them. Signs of the nation becoming simulated came fast. This new and anomalous circumstance broke them. The new system’s insurgent persistence to resistance did them in. With no hiatus on the horizon from the suffering they began to take dramatic measures.

People became split. The rich became richer. The poor became poorer. The middle class ceased to exist. It became nominal. From then on, slums neighbored grandiose mansions, homeless roamed the capital, and hundreds starved by the second. The new system had produced a state supported by tenuous buttresses.

I am a victim of the new system.

In this world that I speak of, I am a criminal. I am a caught criminal. I am an innocent criminal. For is it honestly a crime to take from the very trash of the rich to feed the hungry, and in this case my family? One insignificant, seditious act will cost me dearly.

I sit in front of the very people, bored and inattentive, that though their features are human, soft, blonde, wrinkled, smooth, pretty, ugly, though that, their inside is as cold as ice and hollow as a log. They hold a sinecure, yet still find ways to abuse the minute power that they encompass. Their deathly actions not caused by inadvertent procedures but by sheer lack of caring. Their hearts, if they have one, are frozen to the beat of beastly injustice.

 I sit here looking at my lone daughter, for her mother has fled in fear for her life. There sits my child. She is brave and strong. She transcends the system. There is such courage in the young. They possess a blissful ignorance that drives them to limits of which none of us would dare stretch to. I sit as I hear my verdict. It is cruel and beyond understanding. I am to be punished and stricken down; but not physically. No, that’d be too easy. Oh I will live. I don’t know how though. For how could I live past the terror of standing feet from my dying daughter?

 I will cry. She shall not. No. She will stay true, maybe not knowing why she will die, but knowing that I am there. Things will be ok. But I know better. We are in an age of darkness and she is just another number in an astronomical death toll. I matter not to the heartless. But I am the world to the fearless.

This may be a matter that’s become hackneyed and butchered to death by other stories of the inconsiderate, but I am not immune. Not me, not yet. One life lost out of a billion is still one too many. It’s not inconsequential. It’s not just another leaf in the wind.

One tear shed for a lost soul. One soul lost for amusement. I will live with a tear stain forever imprinted on my cheek. My. Human. Cheek.

 


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