HASTE TO AID - A.
The scribes of shadow know what tales to hide.
News, feels like nothing more than a haunting memory of what it could have been. These grand stages were never meant to bring us joy, but rather to bind us in invisible chains, to hold us captive in the clutch of forces we scarcely understand. We laugh openly, we clap our hands, yet all the while something darker moves beneath the surface, stealing away what little freedom we possess. The media keepers know every line of this sorrowful script, their censorship often painfully obvious to those who dare to look. The ratings climb ever higher, and we are told our liberties are safe, our choices protected. But when the truth tries to surface, when suffering begs to be acknowledged, nothing changes. The cure never comes. Those rotten tales of injustice remain hidden, buried where no one must see them. Media has become nothing but a hunger for gold, and we have lost ourselves in this feeding. They shuffle cautiously around every subject that might wound their precious coffers, words trimmed and sanitised until they are harmless as morning dew. We ought to ignite for something real, something true, yet we do not. Instead, the wicked ones slip through the shadows, escaping all consequence while the media arranges another pleasing spectacle, another show dressed in fine garments and sweet sounds, propped up with hollow artifice. But we, weary and broken, long only for something genuine, something unflinching and real, not these cosmetic failures that crumble to dust.