Wherever the Wind Blows
And so it sat back and looked down upon its work, so far below:
The seeds it had sown upon the earth so meticulously, weaving whispered words in hushed rooms, a fleeting shadow in the corner. They were little things, forbidden things that no one dared say out loud.
The disenfranchised.
The weak.
The poor.
The disillusioned and downtrodden.
The power-hungry and entitled.
A suggestion, a question, a statement to make them fear.
All they needed was kindle for their smouldering flame. Just that little extra fuel to turn into a raging wildfire that spread across the land.
It was delicious.
With the flame came the rage, the hate, the division and destruction.
The creature gobbled it up, bathed in it, relished it. Its little playthings throwing themselves at one another with fists with words with weapons with bombs as they marched relentlessly towards their own destruction.
And when it grew bored it would gather itself up and float away. The wind would choose its next destination.
There was always more work to be done.
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