Once, in a land not so far from here,
there was a village wrapped in comfort — or so it seemed.
Every dawn, the Great Screens in the square lit up,
and a smiling voice from the Council of Benefactors proclaimed:
“We guard your health — for outside lurks an invisible illness.”
“We grant you freedom — with our new digital coin, safe and everlasting.”
“We ease your burdens — letting our machines work in your stead.”
The people nodded.
They wore their bracelets that counted their steps,
measured their hearts,
and kept their coins locked to the Council’s markets.
And if you earned too few points,
you earned no bread.
But one girl — Liora — did not bow her head.
She saw the fields lying idle while grain was imported from the Council’s companies.
She saw healthy folk branded “sick” for refusing a bracelet.
She saw crafts vanish,
hands replaced by steel arms obeying unseen masters.
And she saw the skies.
Long white trails crisscrossed the blue,
day after day,
weaving veils that dimmed the sun.
When she asked,
the Council called them a lie —
“imaginations of the ignorant.”
But Liora had eyes,
and she spoke:
“It is not the earth that is sick — it is poisoned by those who claim to heal it.
There is no crisis but the one they make,
spraying our heavens and choking the breath of the world.
Stop the polluters,
and the skies will heal themselves.”
One morning, she stepped into the square as the voice began again.
“There is nothing dangerous outside!” it sang.
Liora raised her voice:
“The land is fertile, the air is pure —
when you stop clouding it with your false cures.
Your freedom is not freedom, but a cage of glass!”
The villagers gasped.
Some whispered, “Dangerous!”
Others looked away, afraid of losing points.
But a few came forward.
“We thought the same,” they murmured, “but fear held our tongues.”
Together they left for the abandoned fields.
They planted seeds, built homes of their own hands,
and traded in trust, not in coins.
The Council tempted them with gifts,
promises,
and tales of fear —
but they answered:
“No.
We care for ourselves.
We are free while our hands work,
our hearts are open,
and our truth is spoken.”
And in time, the village learned:
Freedom is never granted by the powerful —
it is born when enough people refuse the comfort of a lie.
On nights when the stars shone clear again,
Liora would tell the children:
“A world where all have land, food, and peace is real.
We will see it,
if we dare to say ‘No’ to what keeps us small,
and ‘Yes’ to each other.”
DO NOT COMPLY !
to whatever is coming
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