Look at the monsters. Worthless carcasses with unprickable consciences. Soured souls, rising each morning to open their bowels on the vulnerable and campaign for death. They scroll past tributes to the dead, searching for signs of sympathy and support. Infuriated by kindness. Triggered by any display of humanity, unless it’s the clanging of pots and pans every Thursday at eight.
They’re not selfish. It’ll hurt most of them as much as it will hurt us. But as we’re strengthened by love and compassion, they’re strengthened by hate. They need little prompt from the right-wing media. The programme is embedded. Get up. See whose lives are on the line today. Sniff out any liberals defending them, preferably blue ticks. Mock. Deflect. Degrade. Disappear.
Only they don’t disappear. Monsters walk among us, covering their derangement with symbols of social acceptance. They hang bunting on VE day and do the Covid conga, baptising their children into their cult of contempt while those on the frontline watch aghast, contemplating their own life expectancy.
Bit by bit, the work that’s been done to protect our children has been eroded. Millions in poverty, stories of hardship and despair. The tears of teachers with hungry students. None of it softened the monsters. They stand tiny bodies as collateral for a warped ideology. They’ll risk their own kid’s lives cos we don’t want to risk ours. Fuck Kawasaki like symptoms. They’d send them in tomorrow. Wave them off at the gate and go about their day feeling like a champion.
We’re not scared of Covid. We’re scared of you. You, who cavort while last of Britain’s WWII veterans suffocate alone in care homes. Who think nothing for those with deadly conditions unable to access treatment while Covid rips through our communities. You, who are unmoved by the thought of the vulnerable being indefinitely excluded from life. While the poorest absorb wave after wave of deadly infection.
Each day in isolation is made sweeter, knowing I don’t have to breathe the same air as them. They’ve been infecting our world much longer than Covid. The virus enticed the monsters out to dance naked in evil. They think it’s over for us. That they’ll never be held to account for their fervent calls for the deaths of ‘just a small percentage of our children.’ The monsters mock our attachment to every single child, like our fear of loss is a despicable weakness.
And we tell our babies that monsters aren’t real. That there’s nothing to be afraid of. They were right all along. What lurks in the closet are the manifestations of their subconscious, their childish understanding of grown up’s capacity for evil. Adults buried the monster in fairy tales and gave it many costumes to hide its true form. Once upon a time it was almost impossible to see who the real monster was. Not anymore.
The blood of yesterday’s children still stains the pound. The monsters haven’t forgotten the past, they’re shitting all over it. Don’t let them gas light you. Let their words evaporate in the ether before they can penetrate your good soul. They type dead words and will inspire the disgust of generations to come. Yours will inspire their gratitude.
Now you’ve seen them naked don’t ever forget who they are. Never bow to demands for civility from these savages or be afraid to hate everything they stand for. Hate them with every fibre. Hate them like we hate the plantation owner or the Third Reich, because that’s their full potential. Hate them enough to close your doors on them. Let their calls ring out and leave their messages unread. Remove them from your social life and your social media. Blank them in the streets. Build a fence between your gardens. If it’s your spouse? Divorce them. Your grown up kid? Go back in a time machine and abort them. I don’t care who the fuck they are, if they spend their days demanding for the blood of primary school children cut them the fuck off.
Remember their faces. Let their words in this crisis be the legacy for their futures. Burn the closets on a fire and leave no place for them to hide, plotting to steal our children’s dreams. Look at the monsters.
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