Tomorrow We Dance To Freedom






Cheap Labor World Races Forward

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Walking along the deep ravine, stumbling over rocks strewn across the path about 30 hard pressed disheveled citizens of a country dedicated to supporting winners aimlessly searched for a place to make camp. Nightfall was approaching fast and that meant that they needed to get out of the open - trees, cover of any kind must be found. These men, women, and children were castaways within their own land. They'd become leftovers to costly, old, or young to be useful to business. There was really no reason for the cold hard calculating business of this masterfully efficient world of income leaches to employ anyone who wasn't on the approved list of cheap labor sources. They were no longer regarded as human beings but expendable human resources.

So they meandered on during the day, a homeless mass of dirty torn rags covering protruding bones - no one cared but other 'leftover workers' that they'd pass. Governments long ago gave up the pretense of caring about their citizens for they made it perfectly clear where their loyalties lie. With business all governments found an easily understood ally in another form of big powerful bureaucracy that was also designed to absorb decency, meaning, and stability from the human substrate that now existed at the whim of the powerful few who controlled reality.

Tonight would be especially dangerous being out on a free range expanding for many directions with not one tree visible. Camp must be a quiet affair, not easily discernible among a rock, dirt, and dusty terrain. With the end of the need to pretend freedom-reigned supreme the trials and tribulations began creeping from beneath their subterranean resting places. What was unleashed upon the 'Leftovers' was a measure of extermination enacted through neglect. A cost that no longer provided for a payoff in terms of higher profit even the tiny trickle that constituted money spent nowadays mustn't be expended by a government whose only responsibility was to its business masters.

Business ruled with an iron club over not just reality for they molded illusion into their own subverted reality but over the great hordes of human refuge that they shipped into the country to help satiate their unquenchable lust for cheap labor. Those at the top of the mountain pass gleefully hooted and snorted over their unassailable use of these slaves in any despicable act they could imagine. Who'd stop them, they were the governments, they were the law, and they were the essence of the very air that was breathed or at least those elites who controlled all in their purview believed, and why not since they were gods.

Moving slowing behind the horizon the orange ball of the lonely sun was fading images from glowing earth tone colors into the dreaded darkness of the hunt. Soon the prowlers would be roaming the terrain in search of new prey. Not good being in the open, exposed to this nightly unleashed depravity practiced by all those who had unrestrained command over their dominions. Rules used to check the sociopaths that found their way to the hearth of the beast but over time they were allowed to range freely, devouring any equitable future that may have sprouted from the ruins. No one raised a voice, put up a hand, or wrote a protest to the onslaught of extreme privilege they just remained mum - the media machine ground out more dust to clog up the pure. Only the corrupt could thrive in the dirt that penetrated all the multitudinous creases of a stale society existing on fumes. They were the putrid ones, allowing their bodies to become mere blobs of fat riding in brilliantly colored satins. Gone were reasoning minds that could calculate the least cost advantage from all those important points of money deception that had made their ancestors the masters. Puny little dots of mental matter remained locked deep in their thick corpulent skulls - the purpose of these gray dots was just to receive pleasure impulses. At the time no one realized that if you held down an entire swath of humanity to exult only a few those few eventually would decay from a decadence that latches a hold of their souls.

Flashes of tracer fire could be seen off on the dim horizon; those 'blobular' chopper riders were out to stimulate their little dots, gleefully enjoying a nightly pounce on the helpless like their forerunners who destroyed lives by building this cheap labor hell of a world. Their prey was everywhere - children, women, and meek men who yielded willingly to those who were clearly their inferiors. Never such a docile race was there to be created but on this planet of accepters.

Good night, sweet dreams. The future is racing up fast.