An unusual man wakes up, confused, with a blistering headache, and a psychopathic smile and sense of humor. He steps out into the world and sees a city in utter chaos. In his arm lay a red shard. He aches with pain. He reaches to pull it out but the...
I walk through the fields that get gradually taller and thicker.
Once they were as high as ungroomed grass.
Now they are higher than me.
I can't see. It's mid-day. It's starting to rain. A light drizzle moistens my hair, before the storm started to get stronger. Dark grey fog rolled in and it became almost impossible to travel through the fields.
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After about an hour of weaving through the weeds, the wheats got lower again, and I was able to see.
I could see a building, if you could call it that, standing there. I ran to it.
It was the ruins of a house, but it is very unclear if it was a house or not. It has no roof, and consists completely of brick.
I climb over the possible window ledge, and step inside.
The inside is filled with dirt. There is a small table that has collapsed into two, and a destroyed chair. In the corner there is two crates. They are very large. Large enough for a young boy who is very small to fit inside and rest.
I open it up and examine, and there is some food rations and some tin rectangular chips. In the smaller crate there is a small bag. I rummage through it and it seems like a military bag. I peek inside but I can tell there is fresh clothes, a poncho, and a flashlight. Along with that, a small knife. I pull the poncho on and put it on. I wrap it around myself and climb inside the large crate, holding my new bag.
I am very claustrophobic,
But there is nothing I can do.
I look at the small table and chairs from inside the crate.
It reminds me of when I was in school.
I can feel my eyes getting heavy.
I blink.
I'm in my classroom.
The teacher is there. Everyone is in a black silhouette.
Everyone is talking. I despise these people. Look at them. They have their egos up their asses. They talk about how they are important, how they are going to build their own cities, their own worlds. I hate them. I hate them so much. They sound like my father. I just want them to be quiet.
The teacher comes around and places his hand on my paper. He closes his eyes and reads it. He smiles.
I respect him, only because I need him to pass the class.
Philosophy is easy. You just have to follow the morals they want you to believe, that all people are created equal, and the purpose is to be happy and make everyone happy.
Whatever bullshit they want us to believe.
The kid next to me wrote about how he wants to become a ruler. He wants to be a monarch, and overthrow my father, the sovereign. I can tell already he would not be able to run a monarchy. He believes he can fix the minimal problems with the society we have now, in which, he is correct, this society is bad, there really is no freedom or creativity, despite what mumbo bullshit my father believes.
