The weight of the machete and the numb animal stares as they demand from you an impossible decision.
What’s worse than waking up in a pile of rotting meat, unable to move your arms enough to unwrap the coarse shroud that binds you?
Getting jabbed in the side by the emaciated frames of hundreds of previous victims, some still moaning, begging for water, for air, or quick release from this agonizing and pointless death.
What’s worse than dragging yourself through the useless ritual of education, work, breeding, and inevitable decline?
Knowing that it is all in service to a select cabal of invisible tyrants who extract wealth from the masses while offering nothing more than bleak reassurances such as, “hard work is its own reward,” or, “a craftsman’s work is always his own,” and that this will always be the way of things.