wordsmithlind

The Head Emperor sits a top hill.  Looking.  Watching.  Controlling.  His minions play in an organized manner.  Too organized for play.  Controlled Round and Round.  Round and Round.  Over and Over and Over.

Feeding time.  In ordered fashion they flock towards the feeding grounds.  One by one they go in.  All will eat.  There is a danger.  Something more powerful than their leader.  A ferocious savage that even the leader and his army can’t control.

No mercy.  No thoughts of regrets.  No conscience.  An animal.  A ferocious animal out for blood.  For a feast.

It does not eat today.  The minions are back.  They are safe under the leaders wing.  Cradled like babies.  Protected from the evilness.  The evilness outside of their safe confines.  They do not see the evilness in the front of them.  Life goes on.  An organized dance.  Nothing ever changing.  Round and Round.  Over and Over.  They do not see outside.

Choice.

Over and Over.

The leader babies them back to the confident adults.  They march along in their dance-like swim.  Beautiful.  Perfect.  Order.  Hypnotizing to watch.

They are happy.  They are content.  They do not know what is happening outside.  Nothing outside the next matters.  The control.  The choicelessness.  The redundancy.  The leaders.  The followers.  They see none of this, and they are happy.  Happy.  Happy.

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