Fight the War, Kill the Poor

Son, if there is ever anything wrong, you will never have to worry. Mummy will always have the answer. Hell, she’ll even know what’s wrong before you work it out. And as you get older; and there’s things that even she can’t help you with; don’t you worry; because there’s a magic man in the sky who is watching over you and he would never let anything bad happen. You were born a White British, Middle Class male – the bad people can’t touch you.

But as your parents’ lies begin to shatter around, you don’t feel comfortable leaving the security of your ignorant, privileged bubble yet. You can see people suffering through the window, but you shut the curtains – the X Factor is about to start and your favourite good-looking, average-voiced teen is about to dedicate a tribute of Prince to her deceased grandmother.

It’s 6 O’Clock and your dog is barking. A gentle reminder that you forgot to feed him again. You check the cupboards for dog food, but you’re still out. Clifford will have to wait until the shopping comes tomorrow. You make yourself a ham and cheese sandwich, demolishing it in mere seconds. The dog looks up at you, his hungry eyes begging for something. You’ll  buy more dog food tomorrow.

On the farm across the way, slaughter season has arrived. The farmer goes into his fields and begins to bring the sheep into the stockyard. The remainder of the flock flees, some heading in your direction. You go out to your shed and fetch some planks of wood to barricade your front door with. They are on their way here, but your house is full. What would you feed them? This house needs to start looking after its own animals before it takes anymore in.

Your neighbour allows a group of sheep to graze on his land. One or two overflow onto your land. You watch hesitantly from a distance, but they seem harmless. You let them stay for now.

A wolf sheds its sheep skin and burns your neighbour’s house to the ground. The whole town watches, speechless, as your neighbour smothers the remaining flame. Something needs to be done.

The following morning there is a queue leading up to the farm across the way. All the townsfolk are waiting to sign up to help butcher the remaining flock. You can’t afford to risk letting another wolf into the town.

Kill them. Kill them all.


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