Tomorrow We Dance To Freedom

The Last Word of Freedom Leaving a Spark of Action

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Hot white light glares in your face, the entire room flares in its brilliance, spitting your humanity out in an antiseptic solution. Just focus on the far wall you tell yourself, for the duration dances before your eyes in a blurred continuum. Looking down why are the hands tied to the chair - they seem to exist outside the body. Such a struggle it's been, how can anyone compare the experience to anything but an assault on the soul? A few days must have evaporated within this place.

Wasn't it my own fault for expressing views any views for it is said that one is just allotted work, comprehension, awareness is a luxury afforded the "Captors". These "Captors" how they've instructed all of us in accomplishing our labor in the most efficient fashion - nothing else will suffice. Such a simple innocent utterance but how could anyone not come afoul of the "Captors" "Instruction Cells" - most of us corporate cog's have fallen into this trap. It happens so innocently - desire is even more brightly colored with emotion than some of the other more dangerously skillful words used to communicate with others.

Sometimes we'd force a "quiet time" by drinking enough Whiskey to quickly slip out of consciousness better than to mistakenly pass across the lips a value contrary to the "Captors". None of us could possibly be cognizant of every wise belief or carefree wisdom of every soiled "Captor" - blurring into a stupor is just safer. Letting the lips go limp or numb allows a complete peace of mind given only creaks from a room may then be heard. It is said the "Captor's" jealously guard their prerogative to power and truth within a world that they've created. Maybe not created with their own hands just a knife sliced painful course of service that all of us traverse.

When we lost control of our governments they came raiding in a swarm of shapes down the hills not to kill but to vent their frustration. They've never been satisfied with skill only obedience. Skill presents a dilemma for these movers among dark passages for it represents a trait they will never be able to grab. The easy freedom that we let them build up for themselves at our expense pushed us not only further into material but psychological poverty.

Many-sided faces of destitution tear at our inner being during our short time racing towards our screeching stop. We're not allowed to breathe past a certain age because it is felt by the "Captors" that even in this wisdom tortured world some of it would invariably leak from the plentiful corners of existence. Therefore at the age of 50 we are exterminated, our breath is literally sucked through vacuum tubes - no chance of a last minute voice escaping to disrupt the steady hum of efficient evil. Only for some special professions is this rule relaxed but absolute quiet has always prevailed in the past - no need for concern. Today is a not so special day for me for only 1-day remains in my nurtured obedience to my "Captors".

My little surprise has been long in the making - a steady mental chant to keep it memorized even during my frequent visits to the "Instruction Cells" over the many years - luckily my demeanor has always torn from a rebellious tattered cloth. Moving placidly down the "Last Breath Path" mine will not be an act of pious quiet subservience to the demons. Is it possible that the "Captors' aren't even aware of my temperament they surely would pull up all the red flags of warning. In the queue my time passes one loss at a time until it is my turn. Facing the "Last Breath Chamber" a building hatred starts coursing through my veins until my body trembles. So many have waited before me and are now gone - whiff goes their air sucked out like their lives expended for the complete fulfillment of our "Captors". No one screams, yells, or fights they just cower along with their backs bent. Anticipation builds within me, for I'm only too aware that my message will be the first communication passed to my fellow citizens in over 50 years.

When the "Recorder" asks for my number - a very special number given my occupation, therefore it will be broadcast across the airwaves.

My message erupts… "Citizens stand up for your freedom". Whisk goes the air from my lungs but my lips crease upwards in a smile - my first and last.