Different Worlds

It’s difficult to make sense of everything going on in the world right now. So I’ve written a story, which is made up, maybe also allegorical, although perhaps not so subtle.

I don’t know what else to do…

A black felt-tip, sadly I don’t think it’s a magic one!

The young boy inches nearer the desk and the toothless old man who sits behind it. He whispers the words he has learned from his father, like an incantation. Cruel words of derision, not playground taunts; this child is beyond playing with his peers. He hasn’t learned the lessons of how to share and play nicely. His father doesn’t consider these necessary skills to be taught to a future ruler.

Today’s goal is obtaining the magic pen, those who wield it control the narrative. What is written in the thick black ink comes true, or so they all believe.

But the old man clings on, unwilling to release his grip. He scribbles and scribbles while babbling nonsense – a counter spell to the child’s words perhaps?

And the camera keeps rolling,

and the people keep watching,

unable to look away.

Meanwhile many miles from the centre of power is a desolate place, surrounded by rubble, where another child is drawing in the dust with a stick.