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墨書 Inktalez
These absurd days may soon come to an end.
Carter walked home, the streetlights stretching his shadow across the cracked asphalt, resembling a vague ghost. He had traversed this path countless times, from the bar to his apartment and back again, monotonous, dull, and unchanging, like a worn-out dog leash that tethered him firmly to the edge of this city.
But today, the voices in his head wouldn’t quiet down.
Rain's words and the faces of the crowd kept swirling in his mind. The fervent shouts, the angry fists, the eyes burning with a strong desire—they were all waiting for someone, waiting for someone who could speak for them.
And Rain had chosen him.
Why him?
This question had plagued him all day. He didn’t see himself as a hero; he even doubted whether he could change anything. But when he stood among the crowd, when he spoke those words buried deep within him, when he heard the applause and saw those eyes filled with understanding, something that had lain dormant within him began to stir.
He didn’t know what it was—perhaps a sense of mission, perhaps the value of existence, or maybe just the simple meaning of being alive.
But he could feel that something was changing.
He pondered how many veterans like him still existed.
How many warriors had once fought bravely but were now forgotten by society?
How many struggling people worked day after day at factories, in trucks, in supermarkets, on construction sites, laboring tirelessly for survival?
He had never considered what he could do for anyone because this world had never done anything for him.
But what if… what if there was a real chance to change something this time?
His footsteps came to a halt beneath a flickering streetlight. He tilted his head back, watching the dim yellow light tremble in the darkness, like a star on the verge of falling.
Perhaps he was still uncertain about what to do, but one thing he knew—if he didn’t take action, no one ever would.
Carter returned home and closed the door behind him. The interior was shrouded in darkness, with only the faint light filtering in from outside, barely outlining the furniture.
He didn’t turn on any lights; instead, he silently sat in a chair, allowing the darkness to envelop him, as if it could quiet his racing thoughts.
But his world was never quiet.
Suddenly, a fierce argument erupted from the neighboring room. The sounds seeped through the thin walls—angry shouts from a man, piercing screams from a woman, the sound of glass shattering, and faintly, the cries of a child.
Carter didn’t react at all; he didn’t even lift his eyelids.
He had long since grown accustomed to it.
The residents here argued daily—drunken husbands roared at their wives, desperate mothers yelled at their children. Every month when the landlord came knocking for rent, there would always be someone begging for mercy, crying, or swearing that they would pay next month.
These sounds formed the background music of this dilapidated community, the signature melody of the city’s impoverished areas.
Carter didn’t dwell on it; he simply stood up and walked toward the balcony.
He opened the window, and a hot, humid night breeze rushed in, mingled with the scents of smoke and gasoline, along with an indescribable stench of decay.
He looked down upon the city—rows of tightly packed apartment buildings with dim lights flickering like a rotting mass of flesh teeming with maggots.
What kind of people live here?
People like him—struggling hard, never doing anything wrong, just wanting to survive.
These individuals work long hours every day for meager wages, exploited, deceived, and trampled by society, yet they still cling to the last remnants of hope, striving not to become the refuse of society.
But in this city, the worst things seem to breed the fastest.
Among these people fighting to live, there are also those who lurk like parasites—thieves, hoodlums, prostitutes, beggars. They neither work nor contribute; they only know how to steal, cheat, rob, and sell. They live like parasites on this city, surviving off those who truly labor while dragging down the entire society in return.
They are the real problem of this city.
Carter squinted his eyes, gazing at the flickering lights on the distant street. A certain thought was becoming clearer in his mind.
Perhaps Rain was right—this country is sick, and they, those who once fought for it, should step up to cleanse these rotten parts so that those who genuinely strive to live can do so properly.
As soon as Carter returned home, he tossed his coat over the back of a chair and opened the refrigerator. It was empty except for a half-finished can of beer and a takeout box that had been there for who knows how long. He grabbed the beer, opened it casually, and collapsed onto the sofa, picking up the remote control and pressing a button at random.
The television screen flickered briefly before displaying a scene he was all too familiar with—a political commentary program.
At a long table sat several politicians, commentators, and news anchors, all dressed sharply and wearing serious expressions. Their folders were flipped through occasionally as if they were engaged in some significant social discussion.
But Carter knew that these programs were never about "discussion"; they were more like "performances."
In the program, a commentator named Furman, wearing gold-rimmed glasses with graying hair, was the first to speak. His tone was passionate, his face flushed as he slammed his palm on the table as if the fate of the entire nation rested on his words: "Our society has rotted! Look at what has happened over these years! Our government has completely failed us, allowing criminals to run rampant and letting societal morals crumble bit by bit!"
"That's right!" Sitting across from him, Politician Wood immediately chimed in, his tone resonant and authoritative, embodying the seasoned rhetoric of the political arena. "Our community has descended into chaos. Drug dealers, thieves, and thugs roam the streets freely. They don’t work or contribute, yet they live comfortably off our social welfare! What about the hardworking people? They are squeezed by high taxes, tormented by low wages, and threatened by crime! Is this the future our country deserves?!"
"Look at our Veterans!" another guest joined the discussion. "They once risked their lives for this country, and now? When they return, they don’t even have basic living security, while these societal parasites receive aid, enjoying good food and drink, and even dare to commit crimes! Is this fair?!"
"This isn't just a matter of fairness," the host interjected gravely. "This is evidence that our nation is heading towards decline! This is a sign that society is on the brink of collapse! Allowing these bottom-feeders to drain our resources is the real issue!"
"We must rid ourselves of these parasites!" Furman's voice grew more impassioned as he slammed his palm on the table again. "We need to rebuild a society that serves the 'real people,' not let these societal leeches drag us down!"
Carter stared at the television, his gaze sharpening gradually.
"Yeah... well said."
He murmured softly, nodding as he watched.
"These worthless individuals don’t deserve help; instead, it's us hardworking people who keep getting sacrificed..."
He had never believed in the nonsense spouted on these shows before; he had even scoffed at them, thinking these so-called "experts" and "Politicians" were merely performing for certain interest groups.
But now...
He began to feel they were right.
He had worked hard all his life; he never stole or cheated. He served, fought, followed orders—he was once recognized as a hero by his country. But how did the nation ultimately treat him?
What did the government give him? A pitiful pension, an unstable job, and a rundown apartment next to thugs, prostitutes, and drug addicts. The society he saw was not one of equal opportunity; it was one where the lazy fed off the sweat of laborers, where criminals lived better than honest people, and where parasites received more care than Veterans.
Is this really fair?
On the television, Furman continued to roar, "We need to return the country to the true people! This is no longer a matter of left or right, nor a party struggle, but— we, the true great citizens, must reclaim our land!"
Carter's heart raced.
True great citizens.
He suddenly felt as if he had been standing in the wrong place his entire life.
He had always thought that this was how the world was; he was powerless to change it, forced to silently accept everything, like a discarded dog, finding a corner to survive until one day he accidentally died.
But now, he realized that he could actually do something.
He wasn't crazy, and he wasn't the only one with these thoughts. Those politicians, pundits, and commentators—they all knew there was something wrong with society; they just weren't suffering like he was. They sat in television studios discussing it while he was living proof of the reality.
But what if he stood up? What if he really did something?
His fists clenched unconsciously as he began to believe that his thoughts were correct.
Society was sick, and people like him should step forward to restore the order that this country deserved.
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