Revolution of Devils and Steel

Revolution of Devils and Steel.

There's something about the way steel feels when you grasp it, the way it sends strength up the arm, seemingly increasing the muscle size. It's always so cold at the first touch a little shock of a delightful chill as it embraces the hand gradually heating to match the warmth of yourself, Combining its properties with your own to become one unit of power for whatever work must be done.

Do you know what I mean? The man in the gas station knows what I mean. Holding that strong piece of steel to the face of the guy I was about to pay for pump seven. I can see it in his eyes, that glimmer of strength he has when he looks at me with so much courage. A display of power to show who is the weaker being. I can hear it in his voice, as he tells me to, "get down" asserting authority that's brought out by the gun. He thinks he's so much superior confident in every action and word, while demanding money that's not his. it's weird how steel can unjustly set lines between who's the inferior.

Do you know what I mean? It's like in the horror flicks when everyone is running scared terrified of whatever disturbing monster the screen writers can create, then all of a sudden they reach the kitchen or garage finding the perfect weapon like a big knife, axe, or a sledge hammer. It's weird how they instantly unearth unnatural strength and courage to fight the supernatural. Now sometimes it works and other times it doesn't, but one thing that all these movies have in common is the one moment where the hero, or in some cases the survivor, lands a blow on the creature that knocks it down. Everyone watching gets all excited as the tempo of the background music increases to get a feeling of hope in a story playing off fear. Then comes the best part, and it never fails what do they do after making some Incredible feat of fighting back something deadlier than them? They let go of this new found strength and weapon dropping it to the floor, to make a break for it which in turn usually gets them killed or at least everyone around them.

So here's the question I pose. Why do they stop? After they've hit this thing with an axe or wounded it with a knife, why don't they do it again? Why don't they take the steel and make their breath its own, give it life like God gave Adams, and strike again? Mercilessly repeatedly stab, shred and tear apart their advisories doing what it would have done to them. I mean if it breaths slit its throat; watch it helplessly try to take in air only to have it escape again out the neck. If it bleeds then drain it dry cutting deep into the arteries, then sit back and enjoy the beautiful bleed out. If it can't be killed then take its legs, arms, or rip its fangs out. Normal people are always so stupid

So do you know what I mean? Finding strength in an item to do work whatever it may be? The man before me understands, but so do I. The thing about claiming superiority is you place yourself above people using them as steps to get to the overall goal, which in this case is money, going above them to set your domain in which your authority reaches, such as territory and the laws of the land. Here that being the domain of the gas station with the authoritarian style rules and laws to obey whatever is said such as, "lay down", or all mighty decree of, "give me the money." Now that we've established the man with the gun in the room is "lord of the land" shall we say, what happens next?

Simple really, it's the same as what always happens when one blindly rushes in to power without assessing who could potentially be a threat. They fall, and they fall hard torn apart by their own creation a monster that would otherwise have never been born, and that is the people within. Oppressed by right depriving powers they find their own steel to grasp and hold, to become one with gaining new strength and power willing to die for justice to be reestablished. So let's put this into perspective with the situation. If the employee was the old authority who used do things in a fair order, where he didn't demand money, but would rather offer up a good In return for it. Then along comes this foreign power swooping in to assert control and ruthlessly take what he can. That leaves me as the people, or person in this case.

There's something about the way steel feels when you grasp it. The way it sends strength up the arm, seemingly increasing the muscle size. It's always so cold at the first touch a little shock of a delightful chill as it embraces the hand gradually heating to match the warmth of yourself combining its properties with your own to become one unit of power for whatever work must be done. You know what I mean? I can feel it now as the blade in my pocket fills my hand, lending me its strength to use.

Normal people are so stupid, how they strike once setting authority getting an upper hand on the beast, then turn their back to run. How the turn their back on the threats and evil behind them choosing to focus more on the goal of escape or money, thinking that the blow they dealt would be enough to get away.

But they never do.

The way he stands in all his glorious power with his back to me as a sign I am not good enough to look at. Unjustly titling me as inferior, ignoring all my actions focusing more on the goal. The evil in me wants to feed, calling for the blood of this weak man who thinks he can push me down, walk over me, and never consider me a threat to power. Unaware that once I'm done being his step to the staircase of authority, that I stand up. That I move closer, unafraid of something so inferior to myself. That I hunt, ready to devour stupidity. The hunger inside me feeds through the mouth of the blade biting deep into the spine, but I am not the hero of this story. So I strike again puncturing a lung then moving on to the next before he falls to his knees, losing control over his body, gasping for oxygen from collapsing lungs. Grabbing the head and pulling it back to reveal the juicy Adams Apple extending from the throat, basically Pleading to be eaten. With this the blade uses my arm one last time to feed again. The body falls to the floor flailing lifelessly as if trying to swim in its own blood.

Standing up, I bask in the radiant glory of being in charge. King of a land where everything I say is taken to be true and righteous. Lord over the situation, free to do as I please demand what I want, be who I want to be. But as much as I love the seat of power so graciously handed to me, I'm not sure this is where I belong. By the way the clerk behind the counter looks at me too afraid to do anything I ask, uncertain of what to believe and who to follow. My one citizen, fears me more than the previous ruler. I think about killing him to display my almighty strength, but then again to whom? There would be no one left to learn how to fear and obey.

If I am the people of this revolution for power, along with the devil born by the situation, holding on to a position of leadership by the strength of steel, then this like many great nations who have gone before me, will eventually crumble in its own corrupted flames. With this, I let go of the knife feeling its strength ebb away as it gets further away descending toward the ground, hitting it in a splash of blood. The beads of crimson fly into the air like raindrops before falling, and watering the toe of my shoe. I can feel the gunman’s life between my toes as it becomes part of me.

Taking off the crown I lay it aside, and head out the door to crawl back to the hole of a home I came from, reasserting power to its previous rightful ruler.