It’s that time of day again folks, hold onto your hats and fasten your seat belts because you’re in for a bumpy ride.
The flag rises.
The cheers ripple throughout the square, a combined effort in the art of not thinking for yourself, the masses cry out in happiness at something they think they understand, and yet they don’t understand that there are people behind those masks, people with agendas and ideas that they ignored when they decided the shiny new flag was the one for them.
They didn’t think, and one day it would cost them.
But not yet.
At that moment they felt as free as it was possible to feel, and their ecstasy could be heard in every ear, irony in audible form, ignorance made power, power made easy for those who knew how to fool.
The bolt of cloth flapped furiously in the wind, an omen of the power of symbols, its art another victim of the regime behind the flag, a beauty abused, a joy made a horror.
A single figure takes the podium, and a single figure is all that the crowd sees, unaware that it represents ten fold more, all with their own agendas, all with one twisted idea they agreed upon, their differences put inside for the ability to enforce their hate. The figure shouts encouragement to the masses, their daydreams showing them the glory they promised themselves, their daydreams betraying them.
Millions of people.
Millions of victims.
A slaughter for a promise.
A slaughter of a scapegoat millions of men, women and children strong.
The end of hope.
The beginning of war.
And who says ignorance is bliss?