Musik Gegen Die Diktatoren

The child sat silently. The shadows were starting to prowl, and he was afraid to draw their attention. As if his situation wasn’t grave enough, the Dictators had made a decision that would make it worse. They took away his best weapon against the darkness that stalked around him. The thrum of strings and the steady beats were his sword and shield, his defenses, like how a crackling fire wards off the cold. Without them, he was at risk of freezing. Staring at their doused embers, a cold fear started to blossom in his chest, bringing frost to his fingertips. Distantly, he considered what frostbite would feel like. He knew the Dictators believed that the decision would be beneficial, but what they believed was not always the reality. Their perspective of the truth was differed by the generations. H1e also knew that any resistance or any attempt to reason would be thoroughly ignored, even snuffed out by their system. The Dictators didn’t know they were called such. They called themselves Protectors, Helpers, and Educators, but few of them could say that without the mantels being thin white lies. In reality, their clutches were gradually strangling away any sense of freedom or independence those who they ruled could manage to accumulate. With the closing of a fist, breathing gets harder.