“Rome fell, my Emperor!”
“How that can be?” jumped Honorius and looked at the runner with horror, “I’ve finished feeding him only a moment ago.”The Emperor was referring to his pet chicken, which, upon a fast check appeared to be well and happy. It was another Rome which was not so well, sacked by Visigoths, ravished and burned.
Yes, it did. So what? Sometimes it is for the better. What good it did to the world? It made constant wars so it could foist its vile values of slavery and greed to free “barbarian” nations. It invented, adopted and endorsed all forms of moral and physical corruption known to men. For one Marcus Aurelius it produced ten Caligulas. And even the best, even sanctified, Romans Were marked with Stigmata of vile and murder. Say, St. Constantine, poisoned his elder son Crispus, boiled alive his wife, who bore him three sons: Constantine II, Constans and Constantius, three Caesars, who will fight each other nail and tooth for the Imperial throne upon their father’s death.
That was Rome. And even if all is not enough, then one more thing:
Rome killed my God.
So I'd say: burn First Reich, burn you and all your filthy fascist spawns, you have called this scourge upon yourself and your number is numbered.
Ok, now I can imagine my reader shrugging and thinking: “This Abel-dude writes mostly about Supernatural things or Christian things, what is this one about? Sounds like some kind of a manifesto'?”
Alright, you’ve got me on that one. Here is a Supernatural for you: this “manifesto” came to my mind while my mind was shut and warped, numb from pain and grief. It was not a dream state, but it was surely a state of a painful trance. Take this one as a Supernatural thing.
So when the Sun will rise in the West don’t rush to leave the town, my child, for it will be too late.