Elitist Fallout

That folded leather elitist fallout bore a toll of *hideous proportions*. -- A hundred years down a cobble stone lined well. Dark moldy slick. Distant inky silver reflections confirming it was indeed a well and not a bottomless pit. Misty wraps held you at the bottom while the *vermin* now had the truth you used to hold. The maddening part was that it was still true! The distant echo of the laughter you had for fat moldy losers has travelled back in time to be laughter directed at you. You, the poor pathetic sap who's paycheck has now reached his buyoff point. All the many exciting things, all the free things, all the wild things, all the big mysteries and the plans that were SO going to happen are like a mad man's scratchings against a wall in an abandoned building. Water running down and blurring the text, draining the meaning, but leaving behind the fauvism that once drove it all. Kicked out, stomped and bled to death and worst of all, left stretched out to dessicate so slowly in the hot sun in the middle of a candy (crazy) crowded sidewalk. It wasn't just the exposure, it wasn't just the volume of witnesses to your disgrace, it was how inconvenient you had become to the rest of humanity. You realized the only way to save the world was to remove yourself from it and it was the only way to save yourself from it as well.