《无人区故事》执小白

19、十九

　　the fictious country of Faus

　　I am an imaginary citizen of the fictious country of Faus. Everything that happens in this story, to me, or to any of the characters, are entirely fictional. We are not real. Nothing here should read as anything more than fables and tales.

　　In the fictious country of Faus, we are facing a problem. It presents itself as many different things, as flash floods or market crash or election fraud or revolutions, but really, it is one single problem. We have too many thoughts. We think too much, here in the fictious country of Faus. We think of each and every one of us upon pedestals of morality and credibility, each individual regarded so highly, so surely everyone must get to speak and must clamour to do so. There are simply too many questions to ask.

　　And it's not really about the number of people, if I am being honest. There are many places in the world with vast seas of people, all in perfect, synchronized, unwavering, unchanging harmony with each other. A meticulous existence carefully curated and sustained on illusions of promises being made. They, in each of their own little fictional countries, a act the same, gets treated the same, earn the same, think the same, speak the same. Red is the colour of their unity.

　　But Faus, with the little people we have, remains so staunchly and bizarrely divided. The problem is truly astounding, the cosmic gap between one person and another in their thinking surpassing the human species' genetic superiority to pigs.

　　Worse of it all, everyone thinks they deserve to speak and get heard, get applauded, comraderies heaped upon.

　　What even is there to say? People?

　　Why do you even have a desire to speak, to say, to comment upon?

　　This, as an imaginary citizen in the fictious country of Faus, I could never understand. Just fall into the safe, monotonous rhythm of existence and everything will be alright. Place your trust in the above or the bellow, it doesn't really matter, and you'll be alright. Faus was better back then, before the newer generations came. Like tidal waves, they destroyed everything, set out for rebuilding, but never did. We now lives in a hellish landscape of broken cables and bare wires. This crime weighs on us all.

　　Why even desire change, when reality is far better?
　　Does change always means progress, and does progress always mean improvement?
　　Who can tell these na?ve fools of Faus, that the world was fine the way it was.

　　Before everyone started thinking, and speaking, and voting, and calling for justice and peace. Why wish for things that do not exist? Imaginary people of Faus, when would these truths ever be clear to you?

　　It is so much better, so much more convenient, so much more profitable to surrender your freedom of speech and thought to the below of the above. Their difference hardly matters, give the banks all you got.

　　Traveller, why continue your Sisyphean journey, an endless uphill battle, just to cling on your flawed right to a flawed power?
　　Why must we always be so divided?
　　— A question no one could ever answer.

　　I, as an imaginary citizen in the fictious country of Faus, have no words. The stupidity of the people astounds.
　　Just stop thinking, it's all in your head. Just stop. And we'll be perfectly fine, once more.
　　The economy will do better, whatever those words mean. And news papers will print that, and then we're safe to believe and repeat, because it must be true then. Half truths dressed with statistics that mean nothing, bureaucratic pantomimes of prosperity, stumbling along to another meltdown.
　　They'll roll out pay-cuts for the poor and red carpets for the rich, and we would hail them both, plastered to a screen. There is no struggle to be found in blissful ignorance. Just live your lie, drink the fiction and let them take control.

　　Why hold on, to something that was never fit to be yours in the first place?

　　Are you really educated enough to decide the course of this country? Is it knowledge, wealth or ego behind your fa?ade of autonomy and right of thought? Who is backing your games of charity charade on taxpayer money? Do you even know anything about your politicians and your courts? Do you even care about clean energy and same-sex marriage and nuclear bombs, or are you just a lawful poser? Civically obliged faker, complacently complicit, pseudo-intellectual centrist with indecisive guilt disguised as rational nuance. Your hands are red, so they say. Who can tell what's true and what's a lie anyway?

　　But we deny those claims, they're false of course. We aggressively verbalize our aggressive disagreements, as the imaginary citizens of the fictitious country of Faus. Who are we then, if not posers playing God-pretend? Power and rights on lease, ninety-nine a month from BiG gOverNment, an extra two for premium version. That's sick, man.
　　Turn away, turn your head off, turn the TV off, and stop your thoughts right now.

　　You've never helped anyone.

　　You're just human. Stupidly, hopelessly human.
　　And behave, because you stand on the soil of Faus, and live under it's martial law.

　　In the fictious country of Faus, we keep everything real like that. Entrust and delegate your power, to someone who's willing to put the king's head on a pike and call it power. The world has always spun on violence, and you're silly if you think otherwise. Give up. Who are you holding out for? You know they're all corrupt, you know they won't hesitate to do the same to you, eat you through your guts. Better not get on their bad side, the press and star signs, you've been warned twice. Now scurry away, to whichever hell you came out of. It's always light in the fictious country of Faus.

　　Faus's problem is real, even if it is not.