I thought that those I knew would care, care to hear my pain in sorrow of my misery. The misery
I would throw to the pathetic souls. While I would steal the last fragment of their happiness, the
happiness that kept them sane. I would then wake from my night torture, still hearing the cries,
screams and yells in my head all over me and around me emitting from the Dictator. He loomed
over me. Always wanting me to hear the constant pounding of the souls. Never leaving, never
going, always coming and IT NEVER STOPS! He constantly grabs me and makes the souls scream
louder, he grips my arm till it's bruised. Then, then he would whisper in my ear,
"Look at me and see how I control you, look and see how much I can tear you down and make
you feel pain."
YOU ARE READING
Grey Dictator
Short StoryShort story I wrote based of a piece of work by Banksy. It is from the eyes of the little girl holding the balloons and what it is like in a dictatorship country.
