Lost Rungs Of Democracy (Short Story)

The Lost Rungs of Democracy

“All roads lead to the point of fads’ fulfillment, and all trumpets blow unto the trier’s praise”-keep this in mind as you go further into the vortex.

Dumbo had been whacking off too hard and undisturbed lately. Been giving himself quite a ‘political’ hand job. Climbing the ladder wasn’t easy all along, but what was even tougher was breaking each rung immediately after ascension so that no one else could pick up the same trail ever again. The further he went, he mastered the art of getting along with strangers more expediently while pushing his own people to hostile ends.

His ambitions had no ends. They oughtn’t have had any as there was no putting leash on his continually expanding, dynamic definition for adequacy. He was of the view that the world wasn’t having enough of him or his surplus endowments; enough of the treatment which when meted out may bring about considerable changes to the social ecosystem.

He never halted his unstoppable process. Never felt fatigue preying over him, since he himself was inflicting the greatest manifestation of it to those around him. To ask what was necessary or fitting to a problem’s resolution was never his way of doing things.

He always imagined a lot, pictured fountains of prosperity, fallen soothsayers, flooding currency bills, forests of unproclaimed divinity, citizens who don’t whore on democracy and a world without dreams because reality has sufficiently reached quite there.

Yeah, it gives him a hard on each time, Period!; to think about-out of the book, noninflammatory utopia which is progressive at least in an objective sense. And Bang! He won’t even know he’s at cloud nine, before returning to reality in immediate succession.

Still, he’s bound to go on !