Monday, May 21, 2012

A Letter To The Future

With all the chaos and insanity going on around the world these days, I decided to write a letter to the future. It isn't necessarily what I believe is going to befall us as our fate however it is one of many possibilities. Before you get to the end, I have signed it as I might have signed it if I truly were on the run for my life. I had considered using my own name however, if I'm being chased by an army of soldiers, tanks and helicopters, I probably won't be using my real name; though by that time it may not matter. Anyway, enjoy a little fiction writing and please, enjoy this beautiful day; you never know when it might be your last or someone you love's last. Love Each Other.

"To the future,

I'm sorry. I did all that I could do. I fought when it was needed; I spoke up when others were silent; I defied authority and suffered for it. I took a stance for freedom and I failed. I'm sorry.

I want you to know that I wasn't alone. There were many others with me. They were my friends; my family. They are gone now. I am alone. I can still hear them shouting and screaming; begging for their lives as the world around them descended into madness. They paid dearly to try and stop the impending doom; some with their very lives. I, myself, held some of them in my hands as the last of their life energy drifted from their earth-real corpse.

I have cried many tears; shed much blood; spent countless nights alone and in fear. Every noise, every sound ripples through my tense body as I lay here, hidden from the hunters of truth. Hunters of truth because they spend every waking moment, every available resource to find me; to find us. We are the last of a hope that once lived freely and without constraint; we are the last of the dreams and desires of a people long since dead or enslaved; we are what is left of freedom; we are the last.

There was a time, though it is hard to identify time at all anymore, when there was hope; when the chance of overcoming those who would enslave us was possible; a time when we had a chance. That time is gone. No more is there talk of equality; justice was buried long ago, in a dark, quiet ceremony with only a handful of human beings in attendance for the funeral. Each new day brings me one step closer to death, a death I do not look forward to. I will welcome it as it will be on my own terms, not theirs; there is a difference between acceptance and understanding. I will understand my death when....

They are near. I can hear the sound of the helicopters in the distance. The slow rumbling of tanks and armored vehicles shakes the ground beneath where I am sitting. Even now, hidden away from those who seek my head, I can hear the faint voices of foot soldiers repeating without missing a beat, their sacred marching chants. Their voices carried on the wind with the smell of burning corpses and nuclear radiation. 

I am alone. There are none left with me. They have been killed, captured or assimilated. I do not know what tomorrow brings, or even if there will be a tomorrow. Each passing moments brings them close to where I have found refuge. I am not scared; fear is no longer an option; not for many years now. I am, instead, prepared. I am prepared to fight; I am prepared to kill; but most of all, I am prepared to die. There is nothing left for me, or any human being. They have taken it all; destroyed it all; forsaken it all.

To whomever may discover this, I am sorry; we are sorry. We tried. We were small in numbers but large in spirit; spirit was not enough this time. History is filled with inspiration of the passion of the few overcoming the strength of the many; I want to say this happened; I want to say it, but I cannot. They were too many; too strong. Those who could have changed the tide, stood idly by to choose the side of the victor; ignorant in the knowledge that there could only be one winner: peace. Anything else and they would remain the slaves that we had also begun as. Sadly, there are no more people; only slaves.

They are close; very close. As this may be the last time I shall ever have to share I want you to know and understand this, you who may come to find this letter: I may be dead; we all may be gone but what they can never do; what they can never get at; the thing that continues to push me through each day; drive me through the mud and jungle of urban and rural settings; that which has kept me alive all this time, even when all seemed lost and death was imminent, is the idea: Freedom. I am passing this onto you. They can beat you; they can jail you; they can torture you; they can lock you away; they can take all that you own; they can kill you. All of this they can do, quite well and extremely precise, but they can never take away from you your true freedom; your true right: Choice. Choose to carry the torch; it burns inside your mind where no man or machine may find it.

I'm sorry.

John Galt"