Creativity's Farewell to Humanity Part II
Part II in a series novel of short-shorts about becoming an artiste.
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I was sniffing the romance of conflict that had enticed the world into fanfare for a wheelbarrow race of melting ice taking place on track around a battlefield full of burning accusations. The oval was some 90 years long, give or take a few prophets, and I was a virgin to the undulating crowd of interest. Pre-formatted tickets were sold by the dozen for anyone with an opinion, yet, a seat for change was hard to come by since everyone was standing since nobody believed in staying too long. Vendors were selling fresh pop-culture for the kiddies and packs of dynamite to grown-ups. Having blown themselves tired with dog whistles long ago, the referees were unsure what to do with excess packs of wild obedients constantly disrupting the game.
The crowd jeered as progressive tales of deceit grew from supping up the race carts with jets to unscrewing bolts in the system’s infrastructure and renaming the aim of the game to who could spill the most fluid, to building prison walls across the finish line.
It was quite a show indeed, but I was afraid that if I got involved no one would remember where ice came from, much less the importance of water. So I left for the hills and dreamed of building a distraction large enough to garner their attention in hopes that waiting for my casket would not be a preoccupation.