Watermelon War

This is the first foray into an episodic retelling of the history of the world. It is intended to entertain, provoke thoughts, and evoke emotion. Should it do so, please comment.

Also note that lacking feedback, these posts will likely disappear into the nothingness from whence they came.

stranded ship

The passengers have all disembarked.

They came to fulfill their rape fantasies and left with fistfuls of shiny things that would never get returned.

They crashed into us like the waves that brought them here, wrecked our souls as if they were without light.

They invaded our sanctity, created false gods for worship. But the truth is, they are the devils.

From high upon their horses, trampling all that grows beneath them, even though it grew there first.

Tavern

They were all drunk by now.

They harass us, threaten us, shouting over greetings and walking all over the welcome mats placed for them.

They refuse to abide by our norms, our beliefs, our traditions that existed well before they were conceived.

They wrote history to dispute the truth, then disseminated lies and propaganda while we were being erased.

Such noble warriors that rose to protect us, were slaughtered in the mocking face of uneven odds.

Their feeble detractors went to hide and write letters, claiming yet not denying the wrongs of men of action.

Our dissidents remained, joined the righteous in the hopeless battle that you know has not yet been won.

You see the effects, yet choose to ignore our plight. That makes you complicit, fully belonging to their evils.

And our brave warriors rose to fight against impossibility, since all that has happened cannot be overturned.

The acceptance of vengeance begins to taste more like the bitter poisons they left behind inside of us.

Our institutions protect them, set up protectorates with goals of compliance and subservience: their ideas.

So the rules were made up, and now those who are wrong are justified as right. The innocent are criminals.

railcar transport

Reinforcements arrive.

Their enforcers arrive. The scouts will be named saints in comparison to these machinations of oppression.

Bigger guns, the intimidation of a people already mourning the losses of the previously eradicated generation.

Aimed at retention of their gilded thrones, rust covered and seated with rotting souls. This is preservation.

dead gathered

The dead.

And despite the strength of our spirit and our souls, our lifeless bodies are just as weak as theirs.

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