Pomp and Circumstance

Once we were suffragists. An auspicious band of nonsectarian brothers-in-arms, fighting for a laissez-faire nation of peace. A harmonious hegemony.

As dawn broke on October the ninth, irony usurped it all. Such chicanery as had never been seen until that tempestuous day, the equinox of a new paradigm. What hubris had we wrought for ourselves? What churlish pride?

In one kinetic motion our invaders subjugated us; those vacuous masses who had forgotten our history were the first in line for unholy kowtow. Groveling, they abjured their rights to a foreign oligarchy.

Should I have expected more from my abstemious countrymen? Out from the unity we had created sprung a homogeneous throng, only too happy to belie our solemn identity in exchange for totalitarian servitude. Contemptible patriotism, now gauche and jejune.

To what hope might we still cling? A brighter tomorrow held in the arms of nihilism… dare we speak of omnipotent overlords in terms less than evanescent? The lexicon of a revolutionary is shrewd.

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