420: the Revolutionary
It's not like that.
It's just.
It's just that you're twenty four, and your friends are all passionate about politics, and tell you that he's done the best job in history.
It's just that you had this cousin, and she had this friend, and her friend's little sister was, you know. And your cousin got swept up in it, and you got a polite little note saying that they were sorry for the mix-up and that you'd be pleased to know that your family was safe.
It's just that you sit in classes about history and you hear about how terrible it was and you think about what people could do, that they can't now.
It's just that you wonder about the definition of the word, when it comes on the media.
It's just that you look at three old, tired faces belonging to three old, tired men and you wonder.
You wonder what happens when the old stop and the new never start.
You wonder what happens when heroes die.
Then you put the last bit of dark green armor on and you check yourself in the mirror. A harshly mechanical voice, which you are pleased to note sounds nothing like you, announces to your dingy little basement room; "Anticitizen Four reporting for duty. Just as soon as I find a way to contact the rest of you."
It's just.
It's just that you're twenty four, and your friends are all passionate about politics, and tell you that he's done the best job in history.
It's just that you had this cousin, and she had this friend, and her friend's little sister was, you know. And your cousin got swept up in it, and you got a polite little note saying that they were sorry for the mix-up and that you'd be pleased to know that your family was safe.
It's just that you sit in classes about history and you hear about how terrible it was and you think about what people could do, that they can't now.
It's just that you wonder about the definition of the word, when it comes on the media.
It's just that you look at three old, tired faces belonging to three old, tired men and you wonder.
You wonder what happens when the old stop and the new never start.
You wonder what happens when heroes die.
Then you put the last bit of dark green armor on and you check yourself in the mirror. A harshly mechanical voice, which you are pleased to note sounds nothing like you, announces to your dingy little basement room; "Anticitizen Four reporting for duty. Just as soon as I find a way to contact the rest of you."