Delivery Rider Madness
As I sit on the parched brown fields of this barren, benighted earth, a continual scene of tragedy and bloodshed passes by before my weary eyes.
An unending thoroughfares of chariots divide this land asunder. The chariots are loud. The chariots roar. The chariots race and veer and turn as if pulled by drunken horses, constantly crashing into each other in fiery explosions whose embers smolder. Yea, verily, their smoke ascends unto the throne of our god as a plea for deliverance.
Deliverance from what, ye say? Deliverance from delivering. These chariots storm to and fro to deliver foodstuffs and sundry goods to those who are too fearful to travel upon these roads for cause of the great many deliveries being made by those self-same chariots. What an awful situation that has befallen this society! The fearful rich live in sheltered hermitage, while the poor classes risk danger every hour to provide sustenance to those whose fearfulness multiplies the fear in this land.
And what of those who do not deliver, and yet are not rich enough to be delivered to? Verily, their situation is perhaps the saddest yet! They must cross these wretched causeways on foot, dodging these uncaring engines of oppression to do things even as simple as returning home. And then they must do this again and again, day in and day out putting their whole existence at risk in vain attempts to prolong their miserable existence.
Through this all, I feel powerless. The forces that cause these deliveries to be made are beyond my control, and these machines are too powerful to be stopped. I am left alone to sit here eternally, and mourn the wicked trap this people have been ensnared within.
