“Winston Churchill said that ‘The destiny of man is not measured by materials’”
We are a rebellious race in which numbers alone cannot be used to measure our destiny. For numbers strip away the magic– the irrational madness that manifests it differently within each one of us.
We are those who defy life, who seek to usurp its natural order with our own. No amount of numbers can show our willpower and serve as a testament to our faith and strength.
We are beings of contradiction– our bones and flesh in discord as we narrow our view of our people in order to comfort ourselves with the tears of those less destitute– dividing ourselves into groups yet preaching of humanity. We are a people who have fought and killed each for those whose passage eclipsed centuries.
Why else was Lafayette’s name on the tongue of the valiant– those deployed to France to fight for a purpose beyond the fabrics of their existence. A cause that wove the fabrics into a single article– honour and acting as patchwork with split blood and lost humanity on its surface.
Why else was Lafayette more mourned by a foreign land than his own country? For a debt– a simple debt that has snowballed itself for over two centuries, a debt that elevated a man to such a level that both government and people wore shadows for. While I may not believe in the lives of such men– I most certainly believe in their deaths.
Tell me, what calculations could’ve possibly foretold the destiny of such men? There is no formula that could calculate Lafayette’s merits– let alone the merits of the nameless. To use computations to measure destiny is nothing less than a rigorous slap– one dealt by those who rely on such worthless computations, compensating for the virtues that they wish to be praised for yet have always lacked.
For the best of us lay interred in their tombs– their virtues leading them to an avoidable death. Yet their choice is that which distinguishes them from the rest of us– a mercy indeed. I too wish that I had lived in such times for the world that I live in today has been overrun by men lesser than I– the descendants of cowardice and shame. While those honourable men fought and spilt blood, the ancestors of those who forsook their humanity took it upon themselves to enrich themselves above their station with the turmoil brought by death and war.
A war in which they dodged drafts and claimed illness– only for them to claim victory and devour its fruit after the blood of martyrs have run cold. They are those who gleefully send men to their deaths– for they have absconded from their vows, twisting the intent of the Founding Fathers.
There was no way for the Founding Fathers to have known fully about the depravity of those who would later corrupt the system that they made for the people. Naivety in its purest form– a beautiful one that survived for two centuries before it finally began to wilt. Its scent being one that I’ve never had the fortune to smell.
For if they had known of this betrayal of the very ideals they stood for– their pens would’ve become culling blades as they would thoroughly cut away at the possibility for our degeneration to have reached today’s state.
Such ignoble fools would better serve humanity as fuel for our advancement– yet instead they have secured themselves in high stations. They have risen above others– draping themselves in capes of dishonour and stolen valour, a sight only tolerated for the will of the people have been corrupted and tainted by false shepherds– those who claim to channel the will of the people and have turned that very will into a subservient one.
My fury is one that pales in comparison to those who lay under our feet– for they have given their lives for a cause greater than themselves– for the safety of their families and loved ones. Yet the country that fought for now acts as a shield for the very same ideology that they rose up in arms against.
Those who descended from their high stations gave up their comforts and luxuries in lockstep with the masses who gave up their identities– tell me, how disillusioned would they be to bear witness to the fallen glory of our current nation. I dare say that over half of them would revolt against the current iteration of our nation and I too would join their march.
The laws that once upheld the dignity of man and protected it from sulliage have now wrapped itself around our necks with a grip thicker than a noose– for there are those who see humanity as a plague, forgetting that they’ve bitten from the same bounty as us. Oh how I wish that duelling was still a sanctioned activity– for these imposters to have died the same death that Hamilton drank from is but a blessing for them.
I say this, that no number could foretell my destiny– for my destiny is one not privy to me yet there are dissenters amongst us who think that I am bound by the same numbers that they’ve interlocked their fate with.
I say NAY. My destiny is destiny manifest, a destiny that the likes of you could never conjure in the first place– for your destiny is one that you sought to deny, to enrich yourself above your station.
It is fine if I am alone in my endeavor, for it is better to be alone than to engage in niceties with bad company– I’ll find more in common with the dead rather than the living, for I am a stranger to us still breathing yet find myself in agreement with words of men long gone.
Let their lives be one of decadent excess– to give a dimension of height that only serves to antagonize them further after their inevitable demise– the final equalizer. After my death, I shall look for you worthless curs– for death is only a refuge from me so long as I still draw breath.
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