Requiem for a Dream

Once, there was a world of dreamers. These people were born of dreamers; and their children would be dreamers; their children's children would be dreamers. Time passed fluidly, and so the cycle had continued for the longest of spans, enduring the ages of towns and cities and proceeding right through to the age of grand kingdoms.

Life was good, for not only were the people born of dreams but so, too, was their world born out of the same marriage of humanity and integrity. Businesses flourished; science, and the arts, too, where pursued without relent. Wherever these dreamers went civilization erupted from their footprints. Yes, life was indeed "good".

However, by themselves, isolated from each other's assuring and beauteous squalor, the many kingdoms soon became lonely. A deep longing filled the hearts of the dreamers, for they wished to know their brethren, to see their contented and wistful faces. Truly, what they wished for was unity. And with the heart of a dreamer it was easily attainable. Highways and byways, ferries and trains, sprung up everywhere, a convenient medium with which to link the world's peoples; although, for some not even this was enough. The age of the magnanimous metropolis was now upon them, and for some dreamers their once-so-small world had become far-too-large to know. The only solution was to build more: buses, and trains too, though not simply one or even ten. Hundreds of these Ambassadors of Public Transit were loosed upon the people.

And for a while...it was good.

For a time, it was good. For a time, the Ambassadors were great and glorious, and showed us such courtesy and servitude. Yes, they had performed their duties well. No one even thought to doubt the great men and women who lovingly watched over the Ambassadors from their opal Obelisk. Doubt was a luxury unfordable to the dreamers; that is, until it was thrust upon us with a feeling of necessity rather than luxury accompanying it.

The day that jewel bore its first crack, our hearts did not waver. We still had faith in those above us in that towering monolith, and we were steadfast in our belief in the Ambassadors; however, even they would come to betray us.

When the first Ambassador dirtied his robes we did not shun him, we did not spurn, we merely assumed, effortlessly, that he would cleanse himself and then continue on in his duties; but alas, our naivety had made us blind. The next day another crack formed in the opal Obelisk, and the next day yet another. Soon, all the Ambassadors had been fouled, their radiance erased; yet, still, no one had come. No one stepped forward to help them, to cleanse our once-beautiful Ambassadors, or restore their dignity. And as the days went by and more and more fissures etched themselves into the once-proud obelisk we all soon realized that it was not a masterpiece of opal, but a facsimile of glass. No dignity would return to that place, for there never was any to begin with. It was all a clever facade. Soon enough, doubt had come to us, and with it, the obelisk left us, crumbling under the weight of our scrutiny. Now it was all lost: our pride in the Ambassadors, our pride in the Obelisk, our pride in this Trans-link between our peoples.

I can no longer stand to face the Ambassadors, for they have become so hideous to me, defiled as they are. I pass by them and I pass through them, and no emotion escapes me. They deserve no expression of joy, nor of praise. The only action I can will myself to take is a hollow confession of gratitude as I use their services, no less, no more.

And it is not good.

I am evermore disgusted by such sights, so much so that I cannot even bear to see another display anything other than disdain. Sometimes, I will see travelers from afar, people who do not know the disappointment that I do. Enamored by the sight of the precious Ambassadors these travelers draw forth their cameras and take picture after picture commemorating their first encounter with the wondrous vehicles. Oftentimes I let it pass, but occasionally I have such an urge come over me, a violent urge to go and strike down their devices and cease their useless preservation of these images. Admittedly, I would not be justified, and so I do not engage the act. I just cannot bear to think that somewhere someone cherishes this which used to be our...dream.