1964 marks the year President Lyndon B Johnson initiated a War on Poverty, aimed at increasing employment opportunities, revamping education, and boosting healthcare.
While reviews of the polices had a mixed tone, it did decline by about 8%.
Some vows like these, however, remain unfulfilled.
Reprieve and fairness is sought.
Promises spoken. Justice delivered. Echoes that endure.
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Murmurs of excitement ran through the conference hall as Mayor
Carl Sim launched into the speech his eager audience was craving. A throng of journalists, waiting to fill their pages, gathered in the corner, asking sensitivity breaching questions. Their pens hovered above notepads waiting to serve as canvases.
Everyone was too preoccupied to notice the faint shimmers at the periphery of the room. His palms were slippery with nerves – the room held its breath. Sentient shadows scaled the walls – artists with hidden secrets none wanted to know.
Carl cleared his throat and began his speech, one filled with glowing promises of sweeping changes that would enhance lives.
No one noticed the very slight tilt of their chairs – even as they were sitting on them. Papers fluttered in the windless air-conditioned hall, drifting like white gowns above the ground.
The room was – living. With a heartbeat that didn’t sync with Carl’s. As he spoke, a chill worked its way up his legs through his spine. A cloying smell of crisp, pressed white linen grabbed the air.
And it wasn’t air-conditioning draft.
The paper gowns gathered and filled – with forms from a world unknown.
They were ageless. Visible. Slowly approaching.
Imposing.
The crowd in the room took tentative steps backward, mouths hung wide open.
Then, the room erupted in gasps and whispers.
Screams ricocheted off the walls. Bodies piled against doors, grabbing handles.
Pressing against each other as they tried to exit.
Carl’s pulse raced faster than a Formula One driver’s car. A mix of awe and dread filled his being.
The vows he had made all along, to the millions he had soothed?
Mere words.
The guardians had made their dreaded – and expected – entrance, drifting with logic not to be challenged.
And vindication for words unmaterialised. For people -unwanted.
Then, chaos unfolded. Not haphazardly – but in structured, elegant patterns. Tables had overturned outside the hall -lifts were malfunctioning.Officials around Carl scrambled to protect him, but he remained stoic.
His face – unreadable.
The guardians drifted to the stage, mouths fixed and straightened. Gasps of disbelief filled the room. The smell of smoke and wonder enveloped the crowd.
Carl saw the gnawing gap between his empty promises and the painful realities the people in his town dealt with.
Increasing crime. Inadequate public schooling.
The guardians’ feet traced the steps of the stage.
One by one.
Then, they vanished. Leaving overturned chairs, flickering lights and chaotic whispers in their wake.
The air had an empty heaviness few could articulate.
Mayor Carl knew that some forces of poverty – tense family dynamics, unchanging mindsets – were beyond his control.
As ambiguous as the guardians’ warning of justice.
He carried the weight with him, along with their lingering shadows.
A light flickered in his eyes. Their echo resonated, undying.
⚡👁️🗨️🕊️📜🔥
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