Tell A Tale in 500 Words

Frexit (Frank's Exit) By Sinead Cox

Shadows from yesteryear catch up to these shadows we knit today infiltrating our hidden souls. I say ‘hidden’ for we conceal them within the depths of a dark abyss. We invite chaos, a vicious circle of historic mistakes – for who else do we emulate but our ancestors?



A power struggle.



Acceptance, mutual respect, and equality splinter into this class system we fought so hard against. We turn our faces away; fake oblivion; I mustn’t raise my head above the parapet. So we plod onwards through long working hours, zero contracts, stolen pensions, lies upon lies chipping away at contentment, achievement.



Tension builds; unreasonable demands – until we purge unfairness, no longer trapped in the elite’s wheel of fortune.

Gripped by anger, sensibility flees and we begin a low hum of discontentment. Many voices now raised in dispute. Along the way, we prepare for civil unrest, guided towards it by a simple vote.



We cry out with vigour: Hear my voice. I exist. I have the right to speak my mind – and the stagnant tide deviates; we swim. Whirlpools surround us. Murky waters, darkened by fear and pent up years of frustration, expose themselves and I see the replay of years gone by.



Will we ever learn?



Authoritative opinions emerge, encouraging impressionable young minds to be plucked from mainstream on the whim of an examination. Set up children as failures. Reinforce low self-esteem. Act surprised as they struggle with self-worth.



When the grim reaper comes – and he comes to us all – striking out his scythe to tower before them in their final hour, even he shall grimace at the twisted burdens of worry and doubt weighing upon them, stooping once carefree shoulders.



Pressure. Stress. Our thick, tar-like companions today which steal pleasure, health, dreams. There is no balance of scales; one side tips heavy – responsibility, duty, regret. A mountain to climb but a rope threaded with disadvantage bounces you back – no footprints higher than the base camp – survival. Beyond awaits wealthy seekers exploiting those who lay the foundations they build their luxurious lifestyles upon.



Rebel. Or lose all hope.



Day to day drudgery. Nothing spare to save for a rainy day. But wait – consider advice from an aged rebel like me who jumped with the crowd.



Beware of any cry for freedom for it could steer you far from the enviable goal of justice. Decisions must be wise. Wisdom comes with age, yes, but mostly with knowledge.



As I lie here, speaking truth with my dying breath, I mourn the loss of dignity and honour.

In my lifetime, I have seen the best of people and I have seen the worst of people.



I close my eyes and exhale my last while the wheel of life trundles on. My children argue over my meagre belongings. But I, at long last repose.



Where there is light, there is always darkness.

Where there are people, there will always be greed.

As I die, another breathes life.

Fresh hope is born.


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