As I stand at the threshold of a society long-lost, a sickening scene unfolds before me. My so-called government, adorned with a big black boot, bids me yet another adieu with a sickened stomach as it engages in yet another genocide. The government is a paradoxical figure—a member of the Fascist Party with a broken stocking, her sagging belly a relic of a life lived in the shadow of fear, haunted by the specter of that tiny trump hand killing off anything unique or different should it not fit their insane thoughtless globally-broadcast menticidal narrative.
