Night

Chapter 2: Wordenborg

Wordenborg

Wordenborg.

It’s a city, only if one could even bear to compare that word to this mess of an island without cringing. Wordenborg is a disgusting mess of a city-state. The government here? There is none, or rather, there might as well not be any. There’s nobody that knows what this mess of a city needs other than it’s citizens, and let’s just say, most have already given up.

Wordenborg voted for Top Travel Destination of the year!

What a bunch of rancid lies. The streets around these parts are clean, to say the least. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that one could stop and gaze into the horizon amidst their shopping journey, and as far they eye could see, there wouldn’t be a single stray trash littered on the grey tiled sidewalk. The buildings and structures in the city were bright and colorful, are sure to delight even the most meticulous of architects. The city attractions were nothing short of a plenty and littered across the city, promising sights, fun and a sea of laughs at every juncture.

But what the tourists don’t see are the lies woven behind this beautiful canvas that paints the city. The city is colorful, yet to the citizens, the only people that know better, it is disgustingly painted in shades of black and white. This proclaimed “wonderful tourism” came withnothing short of a hefty price to pay. That is the blood, sweat, tears and the starving stomachs of the people, the prey of this crude hellhole of an employment system. This prison is filthy. It is rowdy, violent, distasteful and rancid. The slogging and the hardships that the people have to go through, all for a bit of spare change, makes me tremble in absolute fear. 

Similar to a hollow pillar, polished and refined to its industry’s delight. The top of the class, the prettiest of the bunch, but inside, it is corroded. It is corroded so badly that it gives off an off-putting stench. One that cannot be explained by words, only from the sorrowful, incomprehensible gibberish the middle-aged man, sitting at the bar is screaming.You can hear the deep notes in his voice messed up with the higher ones. You can feel the emotion, the pain, like needles digging into your flesh. You can feel the goosebumps, from disbelief and disgust. 

You can feel the disappointment. The blatant lies that he has heard. The masks that have fallen before himin the face of adversity. The scars and bruises dotting the shoulder of the common man. The second side of people that he’s witnessed one too many times. This is what the madmen have done, this is what they are doing to us, and they won’t stop. That is until someone puts an end to this reign of atrocity they call governing the city.

Why don’t these citizens leave, you may ask. The reason is simple, and brutally so. They have no money to do so. The common man struggles to make ends meet, to feed his family, and as women are forbidden from working and education. Let’s not begin to talk about savings, as citizens have barely enough to This is the line that has gradually formed since the current government was formed. The lines between the rich and the poor are clearly defined, and painfully so.

This city is a dungeon, a labyrinth. It is mysterious and the only thing protecting these mad people, who deem themselves politicians, are the web of lies continuously being spun, across every junction of the street, every turning of the road, and across every single inch of the lane. Rich in tourism, yet poor in standard of living. Honest and kind towards visitors who come to visit, but merciless and deceiving to its very own citizens, whose hands they owe for every brick in every building that they have built up. Every secret they have hidden within their very hearts. Every dime and nickel they have earned for their country. Only to tear from their very hands nothing short of what they deserve. Their families. Their food. Their Freedom. 

Their right to a voice.

Of course, politicians are not stupid, if they indeed were, how would they be able to pull off manipulating the upper class to thinking that we are the real enemy, whilst stealing from us at the same time? Some politicians have tried to break the web. Their traces were subtle, and a little forcefully erased, and left some stains along the way. Guess madmen can get lazy. These stains were barely large enough for a regular person to notice, but I’m not the run-of-the-mill common man. I notice everything, and these stains, were enough to tell me, these webs caught them in their tracks, before the government dragged them back where they felt they belonged.

In prison.

Imprisoned by the result of their merciless acts, their cruelty, their sadistic acts. Trapped by the very same traps they have devised. Prey to their very own creations. Fools.

This might deter anyone else, but if you’re reading up till here, you should realise. I’m not everyone else. It is a mistake, a fundamental and forgivable one, to assume that I’m human. A body of a man, the intellect of a genius, the vision of a hawk, and the soul of the coldest sociopath. I’m no superhero, I’m merely a product of this warped society. I am the force this country needs to turn it around, my power moulded by the very cruelties this world has opened my eyes to.

I am a psychologist. I'm a fairly warped one, to say the least. Never counter madness with logic, only with madness. And I plan to do just that.