I walk amongst the faceless sea of my fellow people. Along the out stretched suncrete paving of our city, buildings stretch into the sky climbing away. Away from everything. No one cares. The faceless people see nothing but themselves, they live in only their own vicinity and not giving a damn about anoyone or anything else around them. They turn blind to the constant issues that surround them, the wars, the poverty, the pollution and the hate.

All that they care for is there own well being, they bond to survive so they do not suffer through plak tow. They do not care for their bonded anymore than they would for a fly they had just squashed under their careless finger tip. They shuffle along the suncrete paths heading in one direction always, forward. To work, back home.

We were not always like this. We onced lived. Now, now all we do is exist, we do not deserve to live, Vulcams exist and that is all. We were once people of generosity and caring. We lived in tribes, tribes who looked out for one another, who grew and developed skills. Then, when these tribes met a new tribe, they did not fight, no. They would communicate, and share. Share their skills of hunting, of climbing, of cooking and of building. They would merge to form groups, these groups became larger and larger, each group had a gift. They were different, all of them. They traded these gifts through each other, but the most prized gift was of the group of the eye. The ones who could talk in silence, the ones who felt each other, who knew when another was upset, the ones who had the gift of the bond.

It was our ancestors who made us, who built our cities and who spawned our greed. We all now have the gift of the bond, and it is used wrongly, they would be ashamed if they could see what we have become, but no one cares. I do not understand how people can not see past their own petty lives. Why is it only I who can see the issues that surround everyone of us? Why is it only I who can see the woman who is forcefully melded by a group of over powering males. Why is it only I who's sees the shopkeeper who sells enhancing drugs to the youth, the law enforcer who is bribed by inmates of our prisons, the government who raid peoples homes for no good reason, why can no one see it!Why do they ignore what is going on around them?

Vulcan used to sail the sol system discovering new planets and our governments would communicate together. But then we grew greed, we bred hate, war and the disease of violence spread. We mined mighty T'Khut and robbed her of her precious ores. We no longer valued her beauty, as now she has none. Her once red glow is a mishmash of blacks and grey where our machines have scarred her baron landscape.

Our streets are no longer places of community, but places that are full of the sickness that is what has become of the people. The children who cause green bruises to emerge on one anothers skin. The woman who throws herself down her stairs to rid of the feotus that was to have been birthed only 3weeks later, just so she can make her money again. To find that scum ridden man to pay her. The law enforcer who slits the throat of an elderly for fun, claiming that the citizen had not paid their bills. The more i think about it the more i wish i had been the nameless feotus, saved from wittnessing the suffering world that our race exists in today.

Who am i amongst these people, no one.

I am the dirt that beg the faceless, immoral beings who trapse Down the suncrete paths, begging for an ounce of their morality to return. I am a part of the suffering and if they cannot see me then they deserve to go extinct, we will eventually. Well kill ourselves and i know it. They do not see me though, the decaying lump of skin and bone, clothed in the thin rags of cotton which have never been washed. The dirt masked face of a man who has never seen water other than from a drain. I am the homeless vulcan who walks the suncrete paths of Shir Kahr, a constant reminder to himself of the suffering. To himself. Not the world, the world doesn't care.

The faceless people dont care about the man who walks the streets, the world dosent care who i am, only i care and know. Only i know that my name is Shcnn T'Gai Surak. No one cares that i am the only one who sees the problems, but i can do nothing but watch the endless suffering through my pain stained eyes, as i am nothing but the man who walks the suncrete streets.

Authors note

I dont really know what this is maybe the origins of surak kind of thing. And was wrote on a touch screen so i apologize for any mistakes. Opinions please?

Thanks for reading ellimongoose