You see me as your average Lemming. A simple-minded automaton like the
others of my clan; nothing but a percentage of the remaining life in your
little tribe; a cloned cluster of pixels to manipulate and toy with as you
wish. Hundreds of me march past your greedy eyes every day, but you are
blind. You cannot see us as a community, but as mere two-dimensional
dolls. We couldn't care; you never taught us how to care. To you, we are
only Lemmings; we do not matter; we do not need rights; we do not need
feelings. After all, why should Lemmings need feelings?
It was my brother who gave the 'Let's Go!' last time, and I knew from experience as I fell from the light that I might never see him again. I couldn't care; you never taught me how to care. To you, I am a single Lemming; I do not matter; I do not mourn or cry; I do not understand feelings. After all, how could I begin to understand feelings?
Gazing through glassy eyes, we march until our feet cannot carry us any more. There is no rest; we trudge through our sleep through this lifelong monotony to the utterance. Our seconds are counted, yet we don't know how long we have to live. But I don't care; you never taught me how to care. To you, I am a single Lemming; I do not matter; I do not mourn or cry; I have no rights; I have no cares; I have no feelings. After all, what would I do with feelings?
Yesterday you assigned a blocker. I didn't know her number or who she was, but I'd seen her before. She had not a pixel more than the others. She was the epitome of monotony; nothing separated her from the tribe; you could see nothing to mark her apart from the rest. Yet something about her seemed so special, and all I knew was that for the first time in my life, I truly felt that something mattered to me. She just stood there, her face so plain and so simple. I stared and saw my own reflection, but it was something about the way she gazed back at me through those eyes that looked so innocently helpless. She was an angel; the essence of purity. And I was standing there between her arms. Suddenly, I saw the count-down above her head. I couldn't let her go; not her. She was special. She was my angel. I tried to plead with you, but you just wouldn't listen. She's gone now. You gave her no last words, but the automatic "Oh No!" – no chance to even say goodbye to the darkness or reflect upon the life she had; no chance to acknowledge my presence, to even know I existed. I often wonder in my Lemming mind: what could have happened if you'd have spared her, if you'd have only left her alive? To you, she is a single Lemming; she does not matter or mourn or cry; she has no rights, cares or feelings.
But what would you know? You only see the pixels scattered about the screen as you count the seconds down to our deaths. You can laugh as you destroy us with a click of a button. You can drown us, and bomb us; trap us and torture us, but one thing remains: as pixels and as people, as tribes and communities; as the righteous and the helpless; we will walk on until our terminal breath and never give in to your brutality.
The sands of time are running out; the grains are counted above my head: the fifth has left. They do not scare me. I know that I am on my way, now. I can see the light already – the light of a place they call Heaven. Here I am not just a single Lemming: I can mourn; I can matter; I can have rights; I can care; I can feel. Here, you can not touch me. But before I leave you in this abyss, I ask of you one thing only: can life truly be sweeter on the other side of the screen?
"Oh No!"
It was my brother who gave the 'Let's Go!' last time, and I knew from experience as I fell from the light that I might never see him again. I couldn't care; you never taught me how to care. To you, I am a single Lemming; I do not matter; I do not mourn or cry; I do not understand feelings. After all, how could I begin to understand feelings?
Gazing through glassy eyes, we march until our feet cannot carry us any more. There is no rest; we trudge through our sleep through this lifelong monotony to the utterance. Our seconds are counted, yet we don't know how long we have to live. But I don't care; you never taught me how to care. To you, I am a single Lemming; I do not matter; I do not mourn or cry; I have no rights; I have no cares; I have no feelings. After all, what would I do with feelings?
Yesterday you assigned a blocker. I didn't know her number or who she was, but I'd seen her before. She had not a pixel more than the others. She was the epitome of monotony; nothing separated her from the tribe; you could see nothing to mark her apart from the rest. Yet something about her seemed so special, and all I knew was that for the first time in my life, I truly felt that something mattered to me. She just stood there, her face so plain and so simple. I stared and saw my own reflection, but it was something about the way she gazed back at me through those eyes that looked so innocently helpless. She was an angel; the essence of purity. And I was standing there between her arms. Suddenly, I saw the count-down above her head. I couldn't let her go; not her. She was special. She was my angel. I tried to plead with you, but you just wouldn't listen. She's gone now. You gave her no last words, but the automatic "Oh No!" – no chance to even say goodbye to the darkness or reflect upon the life she had; no chance to acknowledge my presence, to even know I existed. I often wonder in my Lemming mind: what could have happened if you'd have spared her, if you'd have only left her alive? To you, she is a single Lemming; she does not matter or mourn or cry; she has no rights, cares or feelings.
But what would you know? You only see the pixels scattered about the screen as you count the seconds down to our deaths. You can laugh as you destroy us with a click of a button. You can drown us, and bomb us; trap us and torture us, but one thing remains: as pixels and as people, as tribes and communities; as the righteous and the helpless; we will walk on until our terminal breath and never give in to your brutality.
The sands of time are running out; the grains are counted above my head: the fifth has left. They do not scare me. I know that I am on my way, now. I can see the light already – the light of a place they call Heaven. Here I am not just a single Lemming: I can mourn; I can matter; I can have rights; I can care; I can feel. Here, you can not touch me. But before I leave you in this abyss, I ask of you one thing only: can life truly be sweeter on the other side of the screen?
"Oh No!"