There Is No Alternative

2089

The Future we live in is bleak ...

I wish I could properly introduce myself, but I can't. I've been stripped of all identity, all possessions, everything. In the times that we live, we aren't characterized by a name, we don't have a unique identity. We are dirt poor and working for our rulers. 

The Rich, whose wealth and influence have grown to levels beyond your comprehension, have fully enveloped our society. They're allowed to have names, to have identities and personas. However, we, the poor, aren't. We are forced into factories by the age of 6, our explicit focus in life is to grow the wealth of these pricks.

I work for the Charlesworth family, a decadent bunch of toffs who parade around on humanitarian missions to 'the east', pretending they're doing right by the poor. It's all promotional material for their 'brand' and 'personas' though. They make money through the PR efforts of their 'propaganda' squads, forcing people to give up their weekly wages and salaries because, in their minds, 'There Is No Alternative'.

That saying is one you'll hear a lot. From the destitute poor trying to keep their heads down and survive, to the round the clock propaganda that is spouted on their own 'news' networks. We are sold the lie that 'There is No Alternative' to the rule of these rich pricks. We cannot dissent, we cannot fight, we cannot live. We must bow to the command of these people because if not, we die.

But you might ask; if the world is so bleak and meaningless, why do people cooperate? Why do we keep on keeping on? Well, some of us bow to the rich and believe the propaganda spouted on these 'news' networks. They actually believe that these people want what's best for us commoners. Some just want to mosey along and keep the peace, as their families will suffer the consequences if they were to dissent. People, like our man Nada, want to take the fight to these pricks.

Nada is the title we give the man organizing against this bourgeois rule. He is a simple man, donned in plaid, jeans, and a look of ruthless aggression. The peroxide-haired man is a grizzled bastard, but an ironclad will make things better. He believes there is an alternative. The rich have made unions and organizing illegal, and with their decades of anti-union propaganda, most people wholeheartedly agree with these anti-democratic measures. Unions are treated with pure revulsion, even amongst the working poor. Nada doesn't believe so.

For years, he has been covertly organizing for a billion people strike to reject the rule of the rich. Slowly but surely, he has been spreading the word to the trusted, a group of people who openly critique the rich. You may be wondering; if the propaganda is so powerful and the rule so tight, how are these people allowed to survive? Killing people isn't seen as the viable option and for the rich, treating them are moral degenerates is the more effective way of quashing dissent. People who accept the rule of the rich see these people as the enemy, and their ostracization from society

Nada sees this as a way to exploit the rich. A lot of people are ostracized from society, so why not get these people riled up to take on the rich? Day but day, hundreds of people are seeing Nada as the way to reclaim an identity for the working class. Nada provides the way, he is the alternative.

2090

In the public square of what once was the town of Sydney, Nada has arrived with hundreds of thousands of his fellow poor. He has a glimmer in his eye, and a will to fight. A Council election to elect the rulers of society has been called, and a peaceful disruption is planned as a way to protest these rich pricks. People have had enough, and this is their way to fight their situation.

As Nada takes to the stage, counter-protesters arrive. They are fighting for the rich, despite being about as poor and destitute as the rest of us. They have brought Molotov Cocktails, Grenades, and a dogmatic need to defend their oppressors. With electronic billboards reading 'There Is No Alternative' lining the billboards around the town square, we were in the cauldron, and something was about to go down.

We were being abused by these subservient, the violence brewing as we gave them a piece of our minds back. I was back in the back, but the tension was certainly palpable. Despite all of this ruckus, we were still waiting for Nada, as his speech was sure to be one that inspired...

Or so we thought.

Much of what happened was a blur. I was pelted with rocks, concussion grenades, punched in the gut, and kicked in the face. Many of my comrades suffered similar fates, and thousands died. How could all this happen? We were a thousand people strong and ready to rebel. Well, it has taken me a few months to recover to a state enough to find out, and needless to say, I wish I'd never. This is the transcript from Nada, the man who had inspired many of us to get mad.

'Ladies and Gentleman, I'm sorry, for absolutely nothing. Actually no, I'm sorry for not showing my utmost devotion to our overlords. For not truly bowing at the alter of our rich brethren. I sold you the lie of a better life, but really, I was the only one getting their life. Yes, folks, I was told to rile you blokes up to 'fight', but instead, this was just an ambush. These subservient to the right, they're my folks. You cannot expect anything better, there is no alternative, I repeat, THERE, IS, NO, ALTERNATIVE.'

Nada was a fraud, a false promise to our regular folks. He was an operative of the rich. How could anyone be so foolish? There wasn't to be a revolution, there was only hope, a manufactured hope inspired by the bourgeoise.

There really is no alternative...