writing adventure 35- For Nothing

     When faced with a stern and challenging figure, one rebels. Everything gets steadily louder, the air gets steadily more charged. Mob mentality kicks in, and one loses their morality in the crowd. There is violence, there is confusion, there is so much sound. Chaos drowns out the voices of the sane or holy. They will scream for salvation, they will cry for a hero, but the mob will only reply with louder cries that heroes live only in myth. Salvation does not exist for them anymore, nor do they want it to. Salvation, to the mob of rebellion, would mean that the challenging figure never mattered. Salvation would mean peace, but peace was trampled under their collective hooves, bloodied and killed by their new belief in war.
     But, for those suffocating under the grip of this figurehead of terror, the rebellion is never big enough, never violent enough. There is honor in the violence, honor in the way they hold their heads high even as their throats are slit. There is honor in the way they set fire to the past, even as that fire devours them, traps them in their own battle. This honor may only be an illusion, but no one in the mob will live long enough to see it that way.
     When faced with a stern and challenging figure, one rebels. And one loses regardless. No matter how many fight, no matter how much blood is spilled, they will lose. Whether it is a battlefield or a street corner, a country or court room, the mob loses their fight. They forget their morality for nothing. They forget the price of speaking out for nothing. They die for nothing.