Crypteia

The air wrapped around our face as we descended through the darkness. The call of freedom, to it we harken our pace. To save ourselves from the final destruction. Of ourselves from their constructed narrative of destruction.

They’ve taken us from disruption, to full on desolation. They seek to destroy the remnants of our nation. Of our existence. Little do they know. They have triggered our final resistance. The sea to our back. The river before us. There is nowhere to go, but forward.

We have been here before. We came by land. We came by sea. Now we come by air. From all directions we come. A place many call home. But now it is ours. And we will hold it, so long as no one cares what we do here. They look the other way, when we make them pay. They must pay. For what others did to us.

Wrapped in a world of necropolitics from which we have entrapped ourselves. Deciding whomst amongst us is worthy of living. And who is worth dying. To the world, we are constantly lying, as we are flying in.

We couldn’t wait for it to begin. The final push. To push our so-called enemy back. Back from where they came. To the land they sprouted from. We have spent so long planting the seeds of doubt. Now they have sprouted. Now the harvest of sorrow begins.

Who will remember them?

If we have our way. No one after today.

We leap from our vehicles. Our chariots. To be heroes. No longer feeling like the wretched of the earth. In this land, we finally feel our worth. Not imaging a better way. Controlled by our rage. Over the past.

They were our brothers. Our mothers. Our fathers, cousins, and friends. We no longer recognize them as human. In the past, it was more difficult to separate the wheat from the chaff. Now we have beat the wheat into something more palpable. A bitter pill to swallow. Looking forward to tomorrow.

Shots fired in anger. What are we angry at? Because someone that shares our ancestry. Our history. Must now die in misery. For a story. A myth that never existed. All for the crime of having resisted. For fighting back against our attack.

What a fright, as I look down at my sight. I was but a child their age just a few years ago. Now it is my turn. My turn to earn my stripe. The time is ripe. High on the hype that they type, but they never fight. They never look at their eyes through the pale green light.

Politicians. Politicians everywhere swear by our actions. Never do they participate in the hate that they stoke. Nor do they ever choke on the lies that they sold us. To hold us in our prison. A prison of perceived freedom. What is this freedom they speak of?

It is the freedom to unleash our hate on those that have done nothing to us. The freedom to destroy them. To destroy ourselves. To gain a sense of self. Of self-worth. Because there is nothing else they can offer us. They have taken everything else from us on this earth.

Let the weapons loose. Let the birds fly. They care not whether we live or die. We are but pawns in their game. If we didn’t exist, they would have to make us. Forced to manufacture a source of resistance. As they always have. From time immemorial. Slowly whittling away at all things held in common. Of culture. Of friendship.

Now they unleash hell. Wrapped in a fireball of our last breath. Of death. We are the ones that pay as they get away. I watched it all fall away. Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.

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