Dogs

The Iron Beast of our desolate town rumbles and groans everyday, reminding us that we are nothing but slaves to our inner desires. With a single roar of his faulty engine, the Beast provokes us to kill, live, love, hate, fight, f**k, and we do all those things without hesitation, for we have been taught to follow his orders and operate by his rules.

Each morning when we wake up, our ears are greeted by his cacophony of mechanical noise. The gears are grinding, and we now have a reason to get out of bed. When the sun sets behind the distant mountains, his droning lullaby gently puts us back to sleep. We are now in a state of eternal bliss.

 

Even in deep sleep, where we see ourselves as innocent children chasing after butterflies in leas and meadows, the mechanical moans of our master never leaves us alone. Its constant echo rings through the make-believe reality of our dreams, traveling across the land like a fiery arrow. The grasslands are thus afire. Butterflies scorch up in flames before our eyes. We now stand in a world of ash, and the monotonous buzzing of the Iron Beast sends us back to the dimension from which we had emerged, back to our town where he sleeps beneath our decaying skin.

 

The Iron Beast never runs out of fuel, for we indulge his every whim. We quench our master’s thirst by living on the terms he has set for us, In return he keeps us safe from the ravens and vultures that hover above our homes. He holds us in his cold embrace with a promise of happiness. We pay him back by remaining loyal to him. 

We are the children of the Beast, the prisoners of peace.

The Father has protected us from dangers alien to mankind for centuries, and we are therefore bound to stay within his reach. We are savage dogs chained to imperceptible poles, and he holds the key to the locks that keep those chains in place. We are wild animals tamed only by the iron fist and strong will of our father. We shall never disappoint him and diverge from his path.  

 

One must remember that we have never seen the Beast, but we can sense his existence and hear his voice. His presence must be real, otherwise all the things we have done and will continue doing would amount to nothing. The people who sacrificed their lives so that the Beast could stay alive, the ones who took the life of a significant other to prove their loyalty to the Master, or the men and women who fucked for the sole purpose of entertaining the Father. If the Iron Beast is a mere illusion, then we would rather get swallowed by a black hole, vanish in the blink of an eye and not leave any trace behind in this world for others to see.

 

But the constant droning of the Iron Beast goes on, and we still get up at dawn with the hope of fulfilling his wishes. Doubting the Beast is a thought that never crosses our minds, for we are happy in the feverish haze of our day to day lives. It is of little to no importance where the Beast lies; he could be watching us from above the clouds like Zeus or calling to us from below the surface of the earth like Hades. We still tread the middle ground lightly, waiting for the next order to keep us moving.

Or perhaps we hear the Beast’s calling from deep within our hearts. 

No time for questions. We have to keep marching. The wheels and gears must continue turning. Savage dogs should remain within the cold embrace of their master, they should remain tethered to their poles. 

We feel the beast everywhere. His voice still rings inside our hollow skulls.

 

The Iron Beast is immortal, and we shall march on to its eternal beat until the end of time.