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Everyone knew that there was something amiss,
but no one was stirred enough to even lift a fist.
Patriots and paupers alike saw no such enemy on their list.
They were surprised that someone ascended from the abyss.

They were rendered helpless, unable to resist, and had
no allies with any ability to assist. They stared in disbelief,
constantly asking, "What is this?", but no one answered                          from the fog and the mist; nor would there be a Knight in                              
shining armor coming to the rescue.  And now, their once                  
freedom-bearing dream was fading from the scene.  Like
Ancient Rome, Acirema did not go dark overnight. But there                      
was a gradual trod, committed efforts, and shifting priorities.
Common Sense disappeared and they dismissed the difference
between wrong and right, before the darkness blackened the light.

There were too few warriors in their midst, and most
of their worshipers would simply hiss. When they realized                      they'd been deceived with a kiss, with a child-like tantrum,                      
they had a little hissy fit. But like Judas, there was no exit,                        
the dye had been cast, and a way of restoration did not exist.

Yes, after many years of division and hate, it was now too late.
There were guns, tanks, and troops stretching for miles and miles.
There were masses of people and a large scattering of paper files.
It was a clear and slightly windy day, although sunny and mild. There
was a myriad of crying eyes, and in vain I searched for just one smile.             
Acirema was later sentenced to death after a hasty kangaroo trial.

062221PSCtest, Let Er Rip #3, John Lawless
Fiction

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