The Demise of the Authoritarian

It was a day like any other. Filled with the verisimilitudes of normalized existence.

Shall there be some roll of the die? Some mark that illicits a nobel and "uber-response" in that sublime nature, human.

Some epiphany of self-enlightenment.

No such luck for the ever down-trodden.

His days had been numbered from the start, like the feather-count of some fighting cock, awaiting that ultimate song of swan in a dank Mexicali ring of feathered pugilistic rip and tear at nature's lithe and fragile flesh.

Merkon Dilichai had always lived his life on the edge of mere, and simple existence.

He never concerned himself with the "what-ifs", or the what-for's.

Adventure was his "petit fours", his small celebration in the ephemeral party of life.

Always sought, and rarely attained, he lived, simply, for the excitement of a simple existence.

"There is an adventure in only trying to live right. To seek only that which benefits the simple life. That which sustains a future generation of truth-seekers".

"I guess so, Merk. But what about trying to do more?", said the grey-bearded man, sippin' his Orange Crush soda.

"More? What more is there than doin' what is right, for righteous sake?".

"Merk, I reckon there's things in the heavens that only eyes like yours can see," the old man quipped.

"Reckon so, Philbert, but it takes a trained eye to keep its focus," Merk felt a bit uneasy 'bout this statement. But he figured he'd live with it, somehow.

"You know, Merk, there is a life that is beyond this one," said the withered soul.

"Yup, and I reckon I'm gonna hit that asphalt and find it".

With that, the dusty old bastard climbed on his beast of steel and roared down that open road to a destiny as yet attained, or related in word or song.