Friday, January 27, 2012

The Scent of Nostalgia (17)

Our voices created a society within and apart from the select rulers and their followers who had rendered the existence and definition of society debatable. A multitude of narrators clamoured in my mind, begging me to unravel their voices to the wind. I had brought a harvest of injustice on board our vessel, which I meant to avenge. The voices were in imminent peril. If despair is all a person can cling to, memory becomes bathed in self-spilled blood and the violence of justice guards its triumph over the vanquished with perfunctory statements whislt wallowing in a macabre celebration behind the mahogany doors.