Pyre Of Man

Somewhere on top the fire, we find are true selves. As the last bodies burn, we are left absent of purpose. With no war, the war party disbands. In the fire’s pale orange light the city is revealed to be ruined thoroughly. During the rushing battle it had all seemed so glorious and right. Now our grievances are obviously petty, our transgressions against humanity grave. The fire did not make us ugly. No, the pyre of burning men proved us to be ugly.

In the span of three months the free world fell over the brink. Those men that wanted power found it among the starved angry masses. We followed Strom Dug, war veteran and middle manager of a convenience store chain. We followed him because he was led, leaving us comfortably numb to our various atrocities. We followed him into the suburbs and the valleys building our numbers. When we met those who might spite us, we took their hands.

We were owed the world for we were the strongest. We were great in size and ambition but indiscriminate in choice of enemy. Heroes and monsters were crushed underneath our boot just the same. Yet some heroes did survive in those trying times. They kept the bread moving from factory to people. The lights returned to Dallas, the water flowed in St. Louis. They rebuilt the world as we broke it down.

It became clear that we were on the verge of peace and we scurried. Strom Dug fell to his lead advisor and we fell upon the city Indianapolis where I was raised. A horde now, we searched streets for prize and others did the same. So many acted so cruelly. Civilization was coming moving down from Chicago with trains, asphalt crews and law. There was an army on the march full of righteous conviction and we were suddenly so very small. left with so many bodies, so much evidence.

So, the fire burns and we hope there is no after life.

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