• A brief volley of fall rain came down, wetting the fallen leaves that scattered the dirt road. The ditches which cut across the ground fulfilled their function. Each ditch picking up a helping of water, making it cascade down the dirt road. I stood at the bottom of the hill, this cascading effect causing me to stand in a small lake. Each second my shoes felt more and more like two soggy pieces of bread wrapped around my feet.

    My hair became damp; my clothes clung to my skin. Rain was coming down everywhere now, crashing into the Earth in an astounding, deafening chorus. Yet in the distance, something pierced the sounds around me. A low, rumbling drone; the sounds of metal on metal, cog on cog. Machinery, I recalled, from the work down the road. I had once passed by the place. Men lined the streets or were in their mechanical work horses. The men themselves donning bright orange clothes, wearing bright orange safety caps, and had sweat dripping off of every corner on their faces.

    Standing in the rain, those images did wonder to get me thinking. At once my brain ran off into the abstract. Playing with logic, building a castle out of pure calculations. It pondered on the nature off life itself with a pure, childish glee at first. It couldn't stay like that forever. Eventually something sharp started to be felt. Pity, wailing up from the stomach, giving the entire thought a nauseous after-taste. At first, I couldn't quite pin-down why. It occurred to me, however, after some thought... These men who were carving the flesh from Mother Nature's bones, they were the personification of humanity. Busting their asses in the weather, every inch of their bodies drown by a continual downpour, they worked to whittle away the millions of years of creation contained in that one spot. To peel back the layers... to create something mailable, something we need in order to survive. In this way, the primary function of society was revealed to be the destruction of nature, not the servicing of man. For, where Nature exists in her untamed form, no human civilization can flourish. Like these men, humanity was forced to grind and weather the earth until it could be made submissive.

    As the rain died down; as the darkened clouds ahead gave way to sunlight, I could better make out the sounds. Cogs in a machine... working away day and night, side-by-side, soothed by the monotonous drone of the machines around them. For whatever reason—perhaps curiosity—I started to trudge through the mud, intent on getting a better look at the workers. At last, my feet crossed over from mud to pavement, and in the distance I saw hunched figures surrounded by steel giants. Tools in their hands, furiously attacking the dirt below them, they reminded of the millions of worker in a bee-hive.

    I found it rather odd seeing them like this. Working their lives away, only serving to build something that will last the time-span of a year after their deaths. I didn't know how any man of freewill could be so stupid. I didn't know, that is, until I focused on the scene ahead of me; until I truly took the time to dissect the scene. It was then I saw them: tiny little strings, so much like the one's that chain a marionette. Translucent and unbreakable, each man bound by millions of them. One stretched to the sky, to the hand of some unknown god. Yet another string stretched to the bank, to the hand of an agent, a broker, a loan shark... One to the White house, one to the television; one to the wife, and one to the baby. If you strain you eyes, these strings become ever obvious. They are there—in control—when the men open their mouths. When they work. When they ********, sleep, think, eat, and exist... Then, without warning, they vanished from my sight. Hiding themselves with some form of magic only conjurible by humanity.

    By this point in time, the rain had completely died away. The clouds that blocked the sun had dissipated, giving way to sunlight. With a heavy sigh; with a heavy feeling of plaintive remorse, I turned my back and walked home. My feet left the pavement and hit mud once more. I had returned to my original setting. Surrounded by forest, glistening from the shower minutes before, the place struck something like an awe inspiring beauty; contrasting with the paved road a few yards behind me.

    I continued marching up the road, turning into my gravel drive-way. Behind me, the sounds of machinery still echoing through the air. Those men would work until their skin was raw. They would chip, and dig, and kill anything, just so long as payment came from it. Tomorrow, after having my breakfast and washing it down with a cup of tea, I would still be able to hear those people. No sleep was needed, no break given... Just money. Money was the great motivator, the great exploiter, the great god of society. With it, the working men could be happy doing anything. Even raping Mother Nature of her creations.

    Pity—the emotion that had flooded me at first—became hate, and I stormed into my house angry at the world. Slamming the door behind me, running into my room, I wanted to find something sharp. To go down there and cut the men to pieces for whatever reason was in my head. Ecological harm, monetary stagnation, wasting of air... Whatever reason would allow me to grate the ******** into find chunks. Into something more manageable.

    I fell asleep to the thoughts of murdering men. Admittedly, being a vindictive person, this wasn't this first time...



    ~~~~~

    My siblings woke up around six, waking me up with them. Screams were issued, bellies were filled with breakfast. Brother complained about this; sister bitched about that. All the same s**t; all the same drivel. This was at about six am, as the sun had yet to even peek over the horizon.

    By seven, I had gone about my morning routine. Hundred and fifty sit-up, fifty push-ups, write for an hour, drink copious amounts of tea... At eight, the sun had just peaked over the treetops. Beams of light could be seen shining through the forest. Darkness still hid in the corners of the house, but for the most part I could see everything perfect. Being small and half-built, the house only had two rooms. My room, shared with my three siblings, being more-or-less an addition, while the second room served as the kitchen. A loft in the second room, accessible through a ladder, acted as the parent's room. Having no walls, all these rooms were barren. Visible OSB and studs constituted the walling; wood and rugs constituted the flooring. To this day, the house is a blend of homogenous browns, only broken by the furniture and appliances which line the walls.

    Opening the door, I stepped into the outside world. Last night's chill was still in the air. Dew was on the grass, catching the light and shinning like a million diamonds strewn amongst the grass. In the distance, the soft hum of machinery could be heard.

    I almost expected the anger or pity to surface again, but it had abated. All that was left was a deep sense of emptiness. I don't know why these sort of things affected me. Whenever they did, however, I ended up feeling raped, used, and tossed away. Life was a detached entity and I could no longer affiliate myself with. The trees, in all their vitality, looked like foreign objects from another planet. I was just waiting for something human to cut them down. Given enough time, this entire forest would be gone. At the rate of expansion we were experiencing, this would be the case no matter were one was. It would be an act of mercy to burn down all the forests in the world now. To let the fire light up the night's sky for weeks on end; to give the world the finale it deserves. A Week of fire and brimstone; of destruction on a biblical proportion. Alas, we would have to just be happy with bulldozer slowly dragging away what is left of the world's beauty. Barren is the landscape left over, and we have to struggle to survive on it. Oxygen levels will lower, fields of smog will choke the air, and we will all be wonder “Why?” Won't that be funny? Asking “Why?” Like you don't ******** know! Because you couldn't stop consuming, because you couldn't stop buying, and wasting, and not giving a ********. The world was your whore to beat, and you're surprised now that she's finally struck you in resistance? Audacity isn't a proper work for that kind of idiotic behavior! Total ignorance is! We act in complete oblivion to what we are doing. And why do we do this? Merely because the consequences are not intimidate.

    Now isn't that a farce? If those men working down there knew just what the ramifications of their actions were, do you think they would continue? Even more, if it directly effected them now? Obviously no, they wouldn't. Being undisciplined slobs, most of us will stop with the idiocy at, and only at, the advent of a “slap on the wrist”....

    A breeze swept over me, and I tried my best to drown this thought. Pessimism, that best describes my outlook on life. Yet why this entire tangent surface by simply seeing a bunch of men slaving for money, I don't quite know. I sighed and started walking down the hill. As I did, my ears picked up a drops of water falling from the sky. One became ten, ten became a hundred, and in the course of a few seconds, the world was battered with a torrent of rain. On the dirt road, a fresh layer of leaves started to become wet from the weather. The rain made a tremendous racket, sploshing up mud and sounding like a million tiny dishes clanking together in chorus. Yet out in the distance, you could still faintly hear the men and their powered equipment, craving more flesh, whittling away a little more from the surface of the Earth.