Author Topic: Vignettes of Niš  (Read 1759 times)

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Offline Geo

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Vignettes of Niš
« on: July 24, 2022, 10:55:53 PM »
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Please note that the events that take place within these stories will not always be public knowledge. Please inquire with Geo on details over public knowledge of specific events.

Offline Geo

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Re: Vignettes of Niš
« Reply #1 on: July 24, 2022, 11:55:20 PM »
[An Except from the Speech: "Man Eats Man", by Alex Kremil]

1981, 26th of December.

"I have been instructed to read this disclaimer before I begin to speak today," said guest speaker Alex Kremil, "that the views I voice here are not necessarily the views of the University of Belgrade. Anyways, I have discovered over my long career and long life, that man eats man. Not in the way I am sure many of you are thinking, not cannibalism. Instead, I am talking about war. You see, a man is never at peace. Never. He is always in conflict with something else, another element of human society usually, but sometimes something else. Human society is a society of constant conflict, each man at the end looking out for themselves, and only themselves, regardless of who they have to, metaphorically, eat.

This conflict of human society mirrors that of nature's society. Just as animals must feast upon each other to survive in their society, so must we to survive in our own. Though we don't eat the flesh of those we overcome, no. We feast on finer things, their very spirit. A business man who engineers the failure of his rival's business has overcome his foe. He has reaped the rewards, the wealth, the prestige, the delicious taste of victory. The rival though, he receives none of that. The only outcomes he gets to taste is failure. Angry, spiteful, crushed, the winner has taken part of their foe's very soul.

This is not the only way that our society mimics nature's. Clear groups dominate both. There is the prey, and the predators. Those that are superior in navigating society, and those that are inferior. As Darwin discovered, only the fittest survive. In that way, the distinct races of the world have found ways to adapt and thrive in our society. Some are the lions, the apex predators, who are adapted to perfectly emerge on top. Some are the birds, who are adapted to surviving all society can throw at them, there until the end. Some are the rodents, so insignificant that they can scuttle about without fear, for there is no point in hunting them, they contribute nothing but also take nothing. There are the gazelle, strong enough to fight and win against even a lion, but too timid to go out of their way to directly confront them. And then there are the locus. Parasites, who contribute nothing yet take everything, with too many of them to ever wipe all of the out.

I likely do not need to say who these parallel to. There are many parasites in our society, who will perish at the single roar of a lion, but there are more parasites than lions. And the world refuses to tackle these parasites. 'Adapt and live, cries human society, or remain unchanged and die.' We need to adapt once again to the new circumstances of the world. We can no longer ignore the parasites. To do so would be to invite the death of all the lions of society, the masters of it.

The world can do several things to tackle this threat. Removing the parasites from the rest of human society, and moving them to their home continent, Ardia. But I am getting ahead of myself. The situation at home should be addressed first, before we go international. There is a clear and simple to see divide in our little corner of society. The Basnions are the parasites of Niš. This is a controversial fact, I know. But it is of vital importance for the health of the Kingdom. The King, bless his soul, should recognise the inherent error in allowing the Basnions to cling onto our society. I advise an immediate and quick removal of the Basnion people to a place better suited for them, Rokkenjima maybe. But, if that proves to be too difficult, a complete purge of them should be on the cards.

Because, put simply, it is a measure that should have been considered a long time ago. We have allowed it to fester. When a building has a termite infection, you remove it as soon as possible. Leaving it risks having the whole building collapse."

[Except Ends]

Offline Geo

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Re: Vignettes of Niš
« Reply #2 on: September 02, 2022, 11:23:43 PM »

The streets ran red.

There was something symbolic in that. A state that proudly proclaimed itself red, socialist beyond all measure, had dyed itself in its own citizens blood. The Poet had watched from their usual perch on the roof of the church as the conflict between the black and the blue had spiralled itself into a gruesome orgy.

It was even representative of the whole country, perhaps. One side waving its authority, one side refusing said authority and one side bringing the weighed club of authority over the heads of the other. They weren't too sure about that metaphor. Maybe a bit too long. Was it even a metaphor?

Either way, it didn't really matter. Nothing really mattered since Comrade Tito had died. Perhaps that was the better metaphor -or was it an analogy?. Severrusavia was rotting just as Tito's was. Just last week Blitkentia had refused to hand over the Yellow Sixteen to the Feds, a move unprecedented. Nobody was really sure where the Yellow Sixteen had gotten their name, the Poet assume that they must have had yellow ancestry, maybe Rokkenjima? 

They paused. Getting off track was something that they shouldn't be doing. Poetry was all they had left now, and poetry was the most beautiful thing in the world, more beautiful than the dove or the...

That one needed some work. The dove or the what? Thinking about it, maybe a sunset would be better than a dove?

The Poet frowned. Something was off. Something important. Their prose was lacking greatly, their usual artistic skill had great holes in it, much like the bullet holes dotted around the square.

Thinking about that, why was it called a square? It was more rectangle shaped than a square, and even then, its more of a pentagon because of that corner there. Anyway, where were they?

Oh yes, red streets, red in blood, the blood that ran beneath the church, the church on which sprawled the Poet. The Poet frowned again. Something was certainly wrong, they realised. Not in the "square" beneath them. The bodies lying there had been there since the Blacks opened up last night. Protest met with gunfire. How the situation had deteriorated. But the Poet's thoughts were getting off track again.

What is wrong with me? Something, surely. It just happened again?

The Poet realised, with a sinking feeling, what was wrong.

The perspective of my prose keeps changing.

They began to laugh, not that its much of a laugh. More a chocking cough. God this is embarrassing.

The Poets eyes idly drifted around the church roof. Home to so many good memories, so many composed poets. My blood, much like the sunset, is bleeding onto the streets. The red sun, and the red blood. That needs some work.

The Poet was amazed, that, despite the blood around Them and the gunfire that had streaked the church roof, they hadn't been hit. But of course I'm lying to myself. The Poet was dying. Maybe their prose reflected that. Something poetic in there. Maybe I can work with that.

The Poet's final thoughts were to end their prose on a high note. Maybe something like looking back on their life, the good and the bad. The love and the hate. Maybe ev