The Tempest

Or, do i dare say it, are we something more?

     In the event that mankind suddenly realizes we have been sleeping through a storm, which at it's best is a call to arms, and at it's worst a means to an end which leaves the heavens void of human souls; we will all place our feet on the cold barren ground, bow our heads as if to avert our eyes, and walk in the direction of what we can only hope is the path of least resistance. I believe that in our first moments of waking our question will not be: What is this storm which has me in it's grasp?  Merely understanding that we are in danger will suffice. Our first question will in all honesty, if honesty remains among a generation bred to deceive, be: In which direction must I travel in order to escape?  We are, after all, creatures of habit and our tendency is to search for escape.  Escape comes easily in most cases, and in this storm it will be our "best" option.  If for a moment we consider the possibility of responding to this call to arms, and in turn march forward, we may find that the battle is the kind that arouses an awareness within ourselves; an awareness that we have never wanted to accept as real or true.  If that moment were to truly exist, it would be swiftly denied as a flight of fancy, a dream, a mere delusion of the possibility of heroism, and we would find ourselves once more in flight.  After all, we are not brought up to believe in hero's.  We are a generation of anti-hero's, meant for nothing more than apathy.
     Or, do i dare say it, are we something more?