Death by Ignorance
(aka Russian Roulette for Dummies)
This round of Russian roulette had been particularly long.
I mean, how long does it take to run through three hundred and forty or so million people?
Turns out longer — and more painful — than you would think.
There were no bullets (although we would later learn, those were there, too).
The bullets — if you want to call them that — were people.
The bullets — if you want to call them that — were people.
We were not all on the same page. Some wanted to rip pages out because they didn’t like the story. The irony was lost on many how they could literally write their own story.
Democracy does that.
It’s a reflection of the people.
Or, at least, it was.
We had entered an era of social media, where our grievances could be recorded, but in a book that did little more than irritate.
It would seem, for many, that the true conventions of the push and pull of representative democracy was failing them.
We had entered an era of social media, where our grievances could be recorded, but in a book that did little more than irritate.
The truth was, their perception that their voices through social media impacted that push or pull were misguided.
No one would tell them. And even if they did, who would believe them? This was their reality.
Complaining and moaning about the way things were instead of problem solving and helping their neighbors?
That was the new world, to explore and exploit — to make into their new image.
Regardless of who they damaged in creation of that undiscovered continent.
No one would tell them. And even if they did, who would believe them? This was their reality.
After that, it was easy to manipulate things. Take an aggressive action about norms?
Outrage!
At least, in their corner of their bubble.
Would news media cover it? Sure, right after this profitable commercial break.
Would we stand up and demand change?
Of course we would.
Because for some reason the television remote control was not nearby so we had to stand up to look for the remote to change the channel.
We’d find it, and then change to something that helped us with our ceiling crown moulding. (It was really nice, if you could afford it.)
We would type angry texts and emails and comments to strangers because that is what we had been conditioned to do.
And then we would sit down and wait for those precious three dots, indicating that our outrage was recognized.
Would it be in agreement, or antagonistic?
We were ready for either.
And to silence the antagonists so we didn’t have to listen to their diatribe any longer — we would be ready for that, too.
Just a simple click and then … poof … no more of that, either.
We would type angry texts and emails and comments to strangers because that is what we had been conditioned to do.
The barrel of the wheel would keep spinning, but the numbers would get smaller and smaller (as more deaths would mount).
The masked-less many would spread to the masked few. They would believe that it was OK if it was to be their time.
Or their neighbors.
Or fellow citizens that they either agreed or disagreed with.
It didn’t really matter, because things had to get back to getting back.
It wasn’t until it reached them — their own direct lives — that they would realize they were also stuck inside the same game of Russian roulette.
Spinning and spinning.
Waiting for another victim.
By the time they took the time to look up and see what was happening around them, there would be no way out.
The barrel of the wheel, finally and forever, would stop.
