Fire engulfs the sky, a multitude of violent colors break into the atmosphere, blood mixed with an immense heat without purpose. Combusted and torched bodies fall from planes painted with their hypnotic patriotic colors, the explosive sound of a chamber tearing itself apart and blowing holes into whatever is in front of it. As such, their wreckage set fire to the land, breaking our infinite blue, only hazy red, and the burnt smell that comes with it as ash falls from the sky remains.
This scene is one of thousands, one of millions.
As gas runs rampant through every major city, parents, children, and non-combatants are mutated and deformed within minutes. It starts the same every single time, almost as if it was physically whispering into our ears, "My existence cannot be refuted. My damage cannot be undone. Run or hide; nothing will remain."
Yellow pustules start bubbling on the skin. Painful and itchy. No matter what cream, the pain cannot be relieved. Ugly and leaking. Your skin will melt, slowly dropping to the ground, quickly revealing your fragile nervous system. Muscles will start to deteriorate. You won't be able to control anything anymore as Shit will eject out of your body Like an out-of-control toddler. Tears We'll begin to come irrefutably. Every liquid will just start to pour and leak out of your body, blood, and saliva piss, but you will still survive. As Are you lying? In Your hospital bed waiting, Your final moments wishing someone would just put you out of your misery. The pain will slowly dissipate, turning A miracle, you'll think. That you're finally recovering, suddenly you'll feel great, and suddenly you can't wait to laugh about this with friends and family, But suddenly as you prop yourself, you'll hear a soft mushy thud; as you look down, The truth shows its head. Your body is rotting while you're still alive, and your arm has dropped to the ground. It starts with the Non-vital parts of your construct until a couple hours later.
Total organ failure.
That scene is one of thousands, one of millions.
Barricaded and held in, closed in, bunkered in. We shut each other off again and again, over and over. In response to our tragedy, we discriminated against each other. Unrightfully so, blaming each other for petty issues that didn't matter, calling out each other's so-called humanity, and judging as if we had any right to. Color-segregated areas. Nationality segregated areas. Keep it all together. Keep it all together.
No Freedom.
No creativity.
No mixing.
That scene is one of thousands, one of millions.
Questioning our circumstances
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Fighting back against our infrastructure
bleeding against the cruel construct.
We laughed it off instead; we brushed it off Time and Time again. "Saying they're doing the same thing over there. So What's so wrong with it?" Why does it matter to me? when it will never be me." "I don't want to think about it." "What's it Got to do with me."
Again and again, repeating our pointless cycle. Of our self-pitying selfishness as our egos only rise in inflation, towering and collapsing over each other constantly,
That scene is one of thousands, one of millions.
Even after The fire finally stopped sparking in the skies with the rounds of constant explosives, even when the fires that scorched our planet died out, Our sky never returned. Just like how our regular days will never return. As we talk ourselves Into thinking it will all be normal one day.
I just have to wait. Be patient; the future is coming, The future that I wanted. The end that I never gave an ounce of blood for. The future I never fought for. The one perfect ending is coming tomorrow. Deep down as we deny ourselves. We 'all know that tomorrow will never come. But Our egos will never let us believe the truth.
That scene was one of thousands, one of millions.
War Never ended. It just took to the streets instead, perpetuated by Our Leaders As they Pocketed the cash off the dead bodies. Who we begged To save us from their violence. We Stopped believing in the truth a long time ago, though, When we Let a fact become a debate. We waved it away when someone's child died, saying, "It's not mine. So Why should I care?" When their bodies hit the graveyard, We all laughed Out of tragedy, but eventually, it became comedy. And we all waited for the World to end; it never came. Just a new world appeared, one worse than the last.
And for our leaders. Their World never ended.
That scene was one of thousands, one of millions.
Slavery.
Genocide.
It became a commonplace fact of reality. The constant Death became a new normality. Segregation and discrimination just became more prevalent in our system. Working laws All but diminished rights all but taken away. We all laughed it away, Selfishly holding on to our lives as if they meant something. Saying it will be better tomorrow without doing anything. Laughing at those who would rebel against such tyranny. Never having the gall to look at ourselves.
That scene was one of thousands, one of billions.
This story is not one of despair but of hope, Of change, of reflection. That the future is not irrefutable, that fighting against tyranny isn't impossible, And that the pain that Is here today Can always rot and get worse. But just because it can Be worse doesn't mean you let it rot and fester. Bite the wound and tear it from its mold; you cure it, and then you recover; you repair the body.
You can't run away from the World, just like you can't run away from yourself.
This is a story told thousands, millions, billions of times. Yet it must be Told Time and Time again So we can remind ourselves never to run But to fight for our homes, for our families, for our friends, and For our World.
And just like all those stories, this is about the will of a single man Anwir, just like the heroes who grabbed our minds and hearts.
He who dared to take back his sky.
He who dared to take back his World.