Yet Another

It is here, that we find ourselves standing.

Standing in a single-file line.

It is a transitional process, of course.

From one year, onto the next.

The past few have been rather…

Unkind, to us.

I look back upon it all.

The hells we’ve had to endure.

Whatever small, brittle minutes of peace we cherished.

For chaos has always followed.

I sit, and I think, and I ponder.

I am not thinking about resolutions.

For I have always failed to meet them.

Therefore, they serve no purpose.

What could I be thinking about?

No, not at all, I realize.

I am not thinking.

I am fearing.

I fear what awaits beyond the veil.

Mankind’s corporate elite will keep building their ivory towers upon the bloated carcasses of poor, desperate immigrants who barely speak English.

The world’s coming death we’ve continuously fueled will contribute to more frequent, catastrophic disasters.

The pandemic these fools have prolonged due to their own insufferable pride will result in thousands of unnecessary deaths.

Politicians in their hideous black and purple ties will insist that throwing innocent men, women, and children into the meat grinder is a necessary sacrifice in exchange for more territory.

All of this suffering, all of this agony.

How sickening it is, to know how much of it is pointless. How much of it was preventable.

I once had hope.

But I was viciously robbed of it.

I recall how tightly I held onto it.

The knuckles of my hands grew hot white trying to keep ahold of what was rightfully mine.

I was not robbed by one person. No.

I was robbed by the people.

An ocean of greedy hands, eager to steal what little I had left.

And when all was said and done, what did they do with it?

What did they do with my hope?

They trampled on it. Those wretched creatures, unworthy of referring to themselves as human beings, laughed and snarled as they took turns dancing upon what I deemed sacred.

There will be no redemption.

There will be no salvation.

For any of us.

I am a terribly hopeless cynic, doubtful of anything good to come from the new year that awaits us.

How many?

How many more innocent people will needlessly die?

How many more until this madness finally ends?

How many more until the governments, and the heartless corporations they’ve set loose, be truly satisfied with their abominable handiwork?

The clock holds the answer.

It will keep ticking.

As of now, I have fifteen minutes left.

Fifteen minutes left to prepare myself for the coming storm.