The PeoplesFreedom
29-12-2008, 06:19
" I once knew this man, I met him in somewhere I cannot really say, but I remember him as much as I remember my own daughter. This man was sitting, slouched, as it were, over the bar. His drink was empty, and he started solidly at a poster on the wall. This man was not a young man, nor was he an old one. This man was a middle-aged man with greyed hair, scares on his face and an hollow expression. This man was not a man you wanted to have a bar brawl with, he was short but built to the core. And, you could tell he would know what to do in such a fight. For some reason, I felt that I wanted to talk to this man, hear his story. For this man looked like he had a story to tell. A story, that needed to be heard. I took a stool and sat next to him, but he did not notice at all."
" I followed his stare, and I saw the poster in full detail now. It was a poster urging for volunteers to fight against Doomingsland in the war against Questers. I ordered a small shot of vodka, and waited. I could not gather up the courage to actually talk to this man. Sure, I had talked to crowds of millions and some of the most powerful men on the planet, but this man, I could not put my finger on him. It had always been one of my abilities to read people like a book, I could read almost anybody, what they were thinking, what their intentions may be, and I could use this to my advantage. I could tell this from even expressions, but this man's expression was steel. There was no penetrating it. I yearned to learn more, but I could not speak."
"His voice startled me, and I nearly fell out of my stool. It was a cold voice, not icy, not angry, just cold and distant."
" I know you. I do not like you, sir. You disgust me. You preach of freedom and liberty, and yet you know nothing of oppression."
My throat went dry, I wanted to say something, refute his claim that I knew nothing about oppression, but I could not.
" When you talk about liberty, sir, you talk about freedom of speech and press and taxation. But you know nothing about oppression. You cannot truly espouse and support your supposed great liberty and justice without first seeing oppression."
The man had now turned to me, revealing a hardened face, blue-grey eyes and scars. I wanted to speak, to tell him how much I loved liberty, how I wanted to bring it to the nation. But I saw no permission to speak in his eyes. Just coldness.
" What Molkte and his cronies do are nothing compared to what I have seen, Norris. You are pathetic. Every time I hear your voice I hear one of naivety and stupidity, you know nothing."
"Who was this man to speak to me in such a manner? I am the bastion of hope for millions! I wanted to shout at this man, scream at him for his unearned insults, but again, the eyes restrained me."
" If you want to know oppression, you will come with me now. Do not worry, I will not kill you. I have no care for political bullshit. You politicians are all the same, promising freedom and justice for all and never following through."
The man suddenly stood up, before my brain could even process his request and he strode quickly out the backdoor. On instinct, I jumped up and followed, the bodyguards that had been standing idly by rushing to catch up. I waved them off. This man was not a liar. He was simply not.
"I followed him to his car, a small, old, beat-up sedan. After I had entered, the man did not speak. He did not speak for more than twenty minutes as we drove through the streets of the late-night city. When we arrived at his apartment, it was one of the middle-class. So, he was not a raving Socialist lunatic with their misguided view of "freedom". He was about something else entirely different. We climbed a few stories, and entered his apartment. It was clean and orderly. The living room was well-organized, a bookshelf was off to one corner and a nice flat-screen TV was at the center. A worn, but nice leather couch, a coffee table, and a reclining chair were the other major features of the room. A fan circled overhead cooling the room to a very comfortable level. Without a word, the man went over to the bookshelf, and took out a book. I strained to see and could just make out a hollowed book of Injustice by Mal Coom, a rallying book for all classical liberals. I had read it a half a dozen times. I could see the man had difficulty using his right hand, and noticed it was missing several fingers. Had this man been tortured by Molkte and his cronies?"
"After getting the Firetrack disk, the man lobbied over to the TV and inserted it into the disc reader. "Sit." He commanded. And I did sit."
"I cannot accurately nor comprehensively describe what I saw. Even now, months after seeing the film, I shudder. What I saw was more than indescribable, it shook me to my very core. I could see why this man had insulted me and my views that I had spent my entire life promoting. The oppression my countrymen lived under was nothing at all compared to this."
"The film was of Doomani slavery camps and factories. The footage was obtained through secret means, the man would not say where he got it at all. But you could tell he had first-hand experience of this evil. Slaves were literally worked to death making weapons for the war machine, they were beaten, and starved. The slaves were tortured in ways that I cannot describe, and I saw the crucifixions, I saw the acid burns. I heard the preaching of an ideology of hate and purest evil. And now I understood more than ever what the man meant by oppression, freedom, and liberty."
"Molkte and his military friends had been allies of this regime, this country had been TPF's primary ally during the war over Nova Europa. The government had bought weapons made from this slave labor. The government was responsible for this... madness. They were as much to blame as the Doomani slavers themselves for supporting such barbarity an cruelty. It was overwhelming. It was more overwhelming to realize that supposed freedom loving nations elsewhere in the world had not stood against this monster. It was madness that the only other nation that had was also a morally-bankrupt dictatorship of the Freeks. It was all madness."
"It was right there and then that I decided that something must be done. I knew that the road to war would be long and difficult. I knew that the war would not be a guaranteed success. But I felt it was my responsibility to end it. It was my responsibility to save as many of the tortured souls yearning for freedom as I possibly could. Most importantly, I knew the hopes and dreams and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere would march with me, and then I could not fail."
- President Norris, Hope.
" I followed his stare, and I saw the poster in full detail now. It was a poster urging for volunteers to fight against Doomingsland in the war against Questers. I ordered a small shot of vodka, and waited. I could not gather up the courage to actually talk to this man. Sure, I had talked to crowds of millions and some of the most powerful men on the planet, but this man, I could not put my finger on him. It had always been one of my abilities to read people like a book, I could read almost anybody, what they were thinking, what their intentions may be, and I could use this to my advantage. I could tell this from even expressions, but this man's expression was steel. There was no penetrating it. I yearned to learn more, but I could not speak."
"His voice startled me, and I nearly fell out of my stool. It was a cold voice, not icy, not angry, just cold and distant."
" I know you. I do not like you, sir. You disgust me. You preach of freedom and liberty, and yet you know nothing of oppression."
My throat went dry, I wanted to say something, refute his claim that I knew nothing about oppression, but I could not.
" When you talk about liberty, sir, you talk about freedom of speech and press and taxation. But you know nothing about oppression. You cannot truly espouse and support your supposed great liberty and justice without first seeing oppression."
The man had now turned to me, revealing a hardened face, blue-grey eyes and scars. I wanted to speak, to tell him how much I loved liberty, how I wanted to bring it to the nation. But I saw no permission to speak in his eyes. Just coldness.
" What Molkte and his cronies do are nothing compared to what I have seen, Norris. You are pathetic. Every time I hear your voice I hear one of naivety and stupidity, you know nothing."
"Who was this man to speak to me in such a manner? I am the bastion of hope for millions! I wanted to shout at this man, scream at him for his unearned insults, but again, the eyes restrained me."
" If you want to know oppression, you will come with me now. Do not worry, I will not kill you. I have no care for political bullshit. You politicians are all the same, promising freedom and justice for all and never following through."
The man suddenly stood up, before my brain could even process his request and he strode quickly out the backdoor. On instinct, I jumped up and followed, the bodyguards that had been standing idly by rushing to catch up. I waved them off. This man was not a liar. He was simply not.
"I followed him to his car, a small, old, beat-up sedan. After I had entered, the man did not speak. He did not speak for more than twenty minutes as we drove through the streets of the late-night city. When we arrived at his apartment, it was one of the middle-class. So, he was not a raving Socialist lunatic with their misguided view of "freedom". He was about something else entirely different. We climbed a few stories, and entered his apartment. It was clean and orderly. The living room was well-organized, a bookshelf was off to one corner and a nice flat-screen TV was at the center. A worn, but nice leather couch, a coffee table, and a reclining chair were the other major features of the room. A fan circled overhead cooling the room to a very comfortable level. Without a word, the man went over to the bookshelf, and took out a book. I strained to see and could just make out a hollowed book of Injustice by Mal Coom, a rallying book for all classical liberals. I had read it a half a dozen times. I could see the man had difficulty using his right hand, and noticed it was missing several fingers. Had this man been tortured by Molkte and his cronies?"
"After getting the Firetrack disk, the man lobbied over to the TV and inserted it into the disc reader. "Sit." He commanded. And I did sit."
"I cannot accurately nor comprehensively describe what I saw. Even now, months after seeing the film, I shudder. What I saw was more than indescribable, it shook me to my very core. I could see why this man had insulted me and my views that I had spent my entire life promoting. The oppression my countrymen lived under was nothing at all compared to this."
"The film was of Doomani slavery camps and factories. The footage was obtained through secret means, the man would not say where he got it at all. But you could tell he had first-hand experience of this evil. Slaves were literally worked to death making weapons for the war machine, they were beaten, and starved. The slaves were tortured in ways that I cannot describe, and I saw the crucifixions, I saw the acid burns. I heard the preaching of an ideology of hate and purest evil. And now I understood more than ever what the man meant by oppression, freedom, and liberty."
"Molkte and his military friends had been allies of this regime, this country had been TPF's primary ally during the war over Nova Europa. The government had bought weapons made from this slave labor. The government was responsible for this... madness. They were as much to blame as the Doomani slavers themselves for supporting such barbarity an cruelty. It was overwhelming. It was more overwhelming to realize that supposed freedom loving nations elsewhere in the world had not stood against this monster. It was madness that the only other nation that had was also a morally-bankrupt dictatorship of the Freeks. It was all madness."
"It was right there and then that I decided that something must be done. I knew that the road to war would be long and difficult. I knew that the war would not be a guaranteed success. But I felt it was my responsibility to end it. It was my responsibility to save as many of the tortured souls yearning for freedom as I possibly could. Most importantly, I knew the hopes and dreams and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere would march with me, and then I could not fail."
- President Norris, Hope.