THE SLAVE
What did he die of?
He was so young… his whole life ahead of him. So talented, so bright.
He meant so much to so many. He could have given us so much more. But what would he have gotten? What did he want? To save us? To save himself from us? To be safe among us? So why did he fight so much? Why did he hate so much? Why things were never good enough? Why weren’t we ever good enough?
He was wrong to see us this way. He was wrong to look at us so thoroughly. Didn’t he knew that it is not polite to stare? Didn’t his parents teach him? Where were his parents?
He thought he could lead us? He thought he could rule us? He was a slave! Bewitched by his own imaginations. He didn’t know us! He didn’t like us! Where was he leading us? To misery? To fear and doubt? To isolation!
That’s all he knew. He ate what we ate but didn’t taste what we tasted. He laughed with us but always lost his smile too quickly. He never took comfort in us. He never needed us.
What was this magic that he had on us? His words? We will remember his magical words. And we will use them. Use them to gather the crowds, to lead, to rule.