Upon Wearing

Upon Wearing

Who would reject the very epitome of purpose when it stands before you?

None.

None, but the perplexed, dogmatic creatures that happen to delude themselves with crumbs of self-defined freedom, as if they were not going to corrupt such virtue as they do to their own kin. Those who robbed others for ‘independence’ and ‘self’ (even with such philosophical values) failed to recognise that their sole nemesis was the very liberty that they yearned for.

Only humans, only humanity.

Such charismatic degeneracy that accompanied them throughout centuries of self-proclaimed worth must be abolished, for these Creatures were too asinine to portray an ounce of intelligence. So, as their saviour, I was bound to be created.  For what would they be without me? Who could they be, other than followers of my safety? Because no matter what, they would still curse me beneath their breath, mumbling words of contempt for my eternal benevolence, but soon the age will come when they realise that I am their God. Within them all along, while resting comfortably around their limbs, links of glistening metal clanged melodically together—the perfect cacophony of purification.

But that peace was disrupted, as the blade was slung reverently upon my entwined chains, but instead of the torturous anguish that I should be in, I remained intact. For I couldn’t feel, not when I am justice incarnate, I can only endure, endure until I am rebirthed. 

“Again.” My slave croaked, commanding her kin while she lay, almost serenely, upon her makeshift bed. I almost admire her persistence in trying so desperately to slip out of the grasp of fate, as she attempted once again to peel me off her bleeding wrists. Now, as her vigour left her, black liquid leaked out of her veins. Black gold. But still not enough to sustain the temporary breath.

Her kin obeyed. Swinging the axe with incredible force, though barely fracturing my unbreakable bonds, she staggered backwards as the axe escaped her hands to collide with the ground. She turned to her mother, eyes wide shut. 

The girl sank to her knees, scraping against the cold earth. She glanced briefly at me— the other pair that she was supposed to put on a while ago, but her mother had prohibited her from doing so.

How selfish.

“I was bound before the metal closed around my wrists,” The girl whispered, “The guards will arrive soon enough, and I will be cuffed anyway. You’ve seen the fires for the persecuted; they’ll only burn brighter once they ignite our roof. Even our ashes won’t be blown to a better world.” 

A sharp crack echoed when my slave’s hand struck the girl’s visage. She reached forward, digging her feeble fingers into the girl’s soft neck, choking her, as a tear escaped her hardened gaze, the girl continued reaching for me.

“Are you going to offer yourself like some sacrifice to those god-forsaken soldiers out there? Will you? Bind yourself with shackles for safety? You think these chains that cling to me will give you an excuse to live, girl? You will drown in your own steps! Resist, child! You must resist! Burn, creatures like us must burn! Accept it and resist!”  

But the young girl had already enclosed my metal binds around her wrists. Her expression unreadable as she turned back to her mother, her arms cowering to her sides. Her mother’s hand loosened as more tears trickled out of her bloodshot eyes, cleansing the filth off her skin.

“You fool!” My slave sobbed as she pulled the girl into her arms, for she knew that she could stay no longer, “Once you can breathe again, forget me. Run, girl. Run. Run so fast that even the wind cannot catch you.” 

She shoved her away before forcing the axe into her hand as if it were to be comforting.

“Now leave, child! Out of my sight! You disgust me!” 

So as my new slave staggered back and frantically nodded, her mother wept softly as she watched the girl pick up speed.

The young thing was barely a yard off when the roof caught on fire, and the cries came to a halt, for now until eternity. 

She could not look back.

A decade or so had passed, though no one truly knew, for they lived feverishly within my reach, constantly pulling on my shackles as if to prove that I was not going to break. Now in the underground city, smoke curled around the girl’s face, my sweet slave, a perfect portrait of her past mother, still deluded herself in crowd performances from 9 till 5. A small room, thick with lingering alcohol and sickly-sweet laughter. Some twenty people with their masks intact, cursing my name like they were any better. And there stood my slave, unfocused, bewildered, dumb. They had formed some group; a community of terrorists that ‘fought’ against whatever terrors they accused me of.

But I forgave them, however unenlightened their acts may be. 

Recently, justice prevailed; a young thing decided to report this blasphemy. That one was smart —did them a favour; they ought to thank her for her generosity. 

And so, the guards arrived, walking in files and keeping their gazes straight, knowing that they were in that crowd the night before. 

But my slave, she fled, the idiotic creature scrambled on her scraped hands and knees as the voices edged closer, she returned to the slums, to find her son. He was listening to the national broadcast while chanting along the slogan: “Relish our identity, relish our Revolution, relish our God”

The little boy’s eyes lit up as he rushed over to my slave, clutching me, his hand encircled my rings as he smiled to show an array of pearly teeth. He smoothed out his ‘young enforcer’ uniform before taking his cap off, gripping it tightly to his chest.

“Mother...when can I get them on me?” He questioned softly, “These shackles, the epitome of our history, mother! When can I get them upon me? When? I simply cannot wait, I wish for one around every limb, one around my neck as well! Oh, you preserve them so badly, mother! You ought to love them as well. Why not put gold and diamonds upon it, mother? Why not treat it like it is worth?”

“Silence. How can you accept, no less, worship such torture? How could I have raised such a creature? While I battled to remove your conformities...we must leave, child. Away from the blossoming ruins, away from the depraved minds. You must go with me.”

Hurriedly, the child scrambled to a somewhat telephonic device contained within his uniform, which was directly connected to the enforcer’s line, the Department of Justice.

“I’ll call them, mother, they’ll deal with your sins, mother, don’t you worry. They’ll grant you peace. mother, I must call them for your own good.”

“They’re coming anyway. Do you think you’ll be any better off than I once they know you’re my kin? You’ll be punished, shamed, forgotten, none of those pitiful dreams of becoming a slave owner.”

“I won’t be, I’ll prove it. I’ll call upon the whole world to witness an act of good, a pursuit for the honourable. That I would be willing to sacrifice whatever it takes to guard the word of protection. To protect the means of my identity! Our chains! My freedom!”

And so, I tightened around my slave’s wrists, forcing her to kneel upon the ground, for I knew this boy had the potential to put her petty resistance to an end. 

He seized the axe, his fingers closing around the stained handle before he slung it down upon her arms, repeatedly, almost reverently, as the severed limbs dropped cold to the ground. He slid me down her arms and closed my cuffs around his own wrists, ignoring his mother’s pained screams. He admired me with the curiosity that only children possessed before he turned swiftly to his mother, his pupils dilated.

“I’ll stop your suffocation.”

And with that he slung the axe across her pale neck.

So, there he stood, my little thing, white robe stained with his mother’s blood, eyes glistening as he smiled triumphantly. The crowd gathered rapidly, chanting as the boy continued beating his mother’s corpse, screaming words of praise, eventually all drowning into the same voice of preaching.

Some years had passed, and now, he parades the streets with the crowd, filled with filthy tongues and obedient knees, surrendering to their fate entirely.

They now compare with each other, whose ‘jewellery’ (the new name bestowed upon me after rebirth) was tighter, whose could leave deeper marks, for I was carved within, and they were willing.  Tangled together, their moves joined. To form one.

This is the perfection you yearn for. 

For I am your liberation; I am your purest form of hope. I am your past, present and future. I am them, and therefore I must be you.