I don’t really know how to say this, I really don’t. Shock overwhelms me, horror and fear, its kinsmen, join in quickly, swooping upon my frayed nerves and ruining them further.
My hand is shaky as I write this, and the floor below me is stained with my own blood. They will not follow me; they know that their blow was fatal, all they have to do is wait. My longsword is in my hand still, and I will desperately that they would try to finish me: I still have strength enough to wield a blade.
They know this of course. They always know. My profile, my interests, all are at their disposal. All that they didn’t have was my deepest secret, now they have even that.
I feel myself weakening now, and my sword clatters to the ground. Its blade is stained with blood, and I smile grimly. Damage at least has been done. But not enough, not enough.
They say your life flashes before your eyes as you die, and I have always accepted it as an interesting fact. Reality is startling as I realize that my life is flashing in front of me.
...That I’m about to die.
It’s not good to deny reality, as I’ve always learned. Resignation has always been my way, as it is now. I can’t fight, and I can’t move. My life is slowing.
But I can still hate.
I’m a fairly new addition to BZP, at least, in the eyes of the vets. I’ve only been in this land for a few years, but it feels like ages. My early life here is a blur, for I have made it so, being unwilling to face what I was then.
I grew to be a premier member, then finally a premier outstanding citizen. I carried my bronze insignia proudly, not realizing how futile it was, and how foolish I looked, strutting around like a peacock.
But it gave me power, and power was something I loved. To stand on my feet, with no big brother watching me.
But in BZPower, this was nothing but wishful thinking. As I grew arrogant, and more outspoken, I noticed a subtle change among the people that really matter.
They are called the staff, and they rule this place. They are everywhere: reporters, business executives, police, government officials. Their eyes bore into you softly, searching you so subtly that you hardly notice. They keep the land in check with a stern but kindly rule.
At least, that’s what everyone was told, but it wasn’t always the case.
Sometimes you hear about us. The bad guys, the pink guys. The ones you can’t mention, and the ones that mysteriously vanish. This is what we are.
We are the people who tried standing on our own. We didn’t want to be children under moderator supervision, and look at what it has gotten us. But one thing no moderator can boast is that we never gave in. We fought, and we died, our spirits eternal and unbroken.
But it’s all futile if nothing else is done, if we die, single warriors fighting bravely and dying in glory.
But with a fall that is never told, a heroism with no ballad to tell of it.
But a heroism still.
My skill grew daily, and I soon began raging against the staff, daring them, seeing what they could do. Deleted posts, warning, debates, or outright ignoring was all I got. This swelled my pride further, and I grew bolder. At last, to my outrage, my account was suspended for a week. This taught me something. You could never do anything the legal way. The moment I was unbanned, I grabbed my most treasured possession: my longsword.
It was time to rebel.
I was rash, and just a little stupid. I slew the first staff member I met, cutting him down without a fight. A puny forum mentor, but a start. I had picked the night, and slew the few members in the blogs. I vanished, but even that could not hide me from the wrath of the staff. I saw them, lime green insignias on their brow, issuing out of the Blog HQ. I hid, but they could track me. My own blog was scanty protection: with a hundred I could hold it for a year. By myself, hardly an hour. So I fled, and so they followed. They closed in, spreading out to surround me. Rage enveloped me, and I slew an armed blog assistant as he came at me. There were more, and although I cut down another, I knew this was futile. Shots rang out, and bullets hit the walls around me. One entered my arm, and as I paused, a blade slashed deep into my chest. This time seeing red for real, I unleashed a blast of my OBZPC power, forcing them back. I fled, and they watched smiling.
My mind snaps back to reality now, and I feel myself even weaker; I slump over my desk now, and my hand shakes so much that I can hardly write.
They’ll come any moment, or death will, but it is my one wish that this statement be found. The members of BZPower must know the truth; the terrible fate of those among you called the banned members, and the terrible tyranny of the staff.
As life slips from me, I issue this one statement:
Hate the staff, resist them... And yes, even I myself must admit this...
Fear them.
---
As a note, this is not my personal opinion of the staff. This was meant as a jokingly serious addition to the 'fear the staff' fad going around, but honestly I'm thinking of expanding it into an epic some time.
Thoughts?
Edited by Zarayna: The Quiet Light, Aug 09 2012 - 08:58 PM.
