Cindre's Speech
Cindre finds a soap-box.
"Oh shit.." "What." "Cindy.."
I cannot be bought by your money. What good is your dead, dyed sheaf of tree husk to me. What difference does a bank account hold to an alien. I'm immune to your drugs, disinterested in your women. I hold no account of revenge. I seek no pleasure in your deaths. I find so consolation in control. I don't want to own you. Nor enslave you. Nor torture. I have been asked time again. By your media. Your government. Your religious leaders. Why. Am. I. Here. I grow tired of attempting to explain the facts of my desires to the people who fear what change I might hold for them, so passionately, that they refuse to listen. I tire of having more words put into my mouth than I have ever had spill from it. The inanity of possible love, and degradation of message, and discolouration of soul. I am not here to converse with your people of power. Your presidents and prime ministers and popes and kings, queens. Your rulers are afraid of me. In just the same way, that they are afraid of all of you. A mass, a pile, a squabble, an unruly and undesirable nuisance, a danger, a trouble. You all gather here and as I speak, still more arrive. You watch my face, you hear my words. But unlike so, so many of your kind, I think you truly see. In actuality, listen. You understand. I am here, to help you. And for every inch of assistance I may dole down, I also hope, with all of the light within my frame, that I may do far more good than harm. Every step crushes ground, every meal slays a beast, every embrace binds a man in place, if only for a moment. I am not blind to the troubles I may cause. I am not ignorant to the deaths and the sorrow and the loss I have already pushed upon this world. I accept the blame, I stand before your hatred and fear and disgust. And cast out, I would leave. Return to where, on technicality, I belong. I would push no further opinion, offer no further help. This is your world, not mine. I would leave you to its riches. And yet here I remain. Still I shout from your rooftops, and your stages and your screens. Still I fight, and shield. I search and I research and search again. I have not left you, I am still here! Because there are always voices. Always, there is someone, who's voice pierces through the maze of politic and faith and order. I hear my name, a demand of my abilities. A sobbing beg for help. And I am powerless to ignore it. I will do all I can to bring mercy to those who want it. I will offer my hand when it is needed. I will remain under this brilliant blue sky you call your home. And the very day that my work is done, the utter moment I am no longer wanted. The second, the races of your planet deem me unwelcome, you will see the last of my intrusion. Until then, I deliver this warning. If you are one standing on many. If you sell souls for personal gain. If you poison for profit, or kill for hatred, if you start a war, or end a peace. If you are watching me, right now, knowing the powers I offer to the peoples of Terra, and you fear for your plans, then reap of it. It is you, and only you, that I will pluck from the ground with cool, and dedicated precision, to disrobe and offer, for the free thinking, free acting swarm of humanity to judge. Expect me. Soon.