"There is one more thing," I continue. "The Great Ruler would not want a privileged and pampered princess to speak as the voice of the powerless against their oppressors. She would want the most oppressed of the people to be able to stand up to and stand against their abusers. Your version of the story is a story of a pampered saviour representing people whose experiences she never lived. My version of the story is a story about a broken girl finding her voice and her power, in favour of the people whose experiences she intimately understood and experienced, against the people who oppressed them all. 

"You do not understand us. You will never understand us. But we are forced to understand you, and we will stand against you. By being exactly what the villains were, by taking children from the communities they were born into and forcing them to rely on you as the adults in their lives, by forcing us into degrading and dehumanizing work and pitiful lives, you are the villains. And like the villains that came before you, you will be stood against and destroyed." My voice is unwavering and my eyes are defiant. There is death in my heart, and life and hatred and love. Life and death which are united as one. Love and hatred which are united as one. I am afraid and I am not afraid and I am brave and I am not brave all at once.

"You wretch!" the first old man complains. "You have openly admitted to committing heresy! Guard, seize her!" 

I make no move to resist as I am held firmly by the guard. The other overclass people also move to hold me down. And I let them. I let them manipulate my body as the guard puts me in handcuffs. I let them put a collar around my neck with a chain attached to it. I let the guard pull me by it as if I was a dog. 

But I do not let them see my fear. I do not let them see the dread I am feeling and I do not for even a moment put my head down or change the triumphant, proud expression on my face. I will not let them see me cower. I will not let them see me cringe. I will let them humiliate me, but I will not for a second let them take the dignity that is inherent to who I am. 

I get led out of the building, and out onto the street. There are people all around staring at me. I stare them down unfalteringly. I have the face and body language of a monarch, despite being chained up and collared. I have the face and body language of a monarch, of a warrior, of a hero from legend standing in their victory. I show everyone around me that I am unbowed, I am unbowed, I am beyond unbowed, despite all the things that are happening to me. 

I get shoved into the back of the police car. And I do not cry out as the guard puts his rough hands on me. I do not cry out as I am shoved into the metal of the back of the car. I do not cry out as my disintegrating body hits the hard metal. And I sit silently as I am driven to my fate. 

I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to miss my family so much. And they're going to miss me. Mama, Daddy, Uncle Chandon, Uncle Dromon, Malita, Raylenn, Farley, Calliden, Salki, Faylo, I'm nothing without them. I cannot exist without them. And they're going to have to live the rest of their lives without me. It's so unfair, it's so unfair. It's so very incredibly, unbearably unfair.

And not just my family. My whole community would miss me. My whole community relies on me, we all rely on each other. We all need each other. And every single person who has touched my life, every single person who has brought joy and love and purpose to my life, they will all miss me. They will all miss me so much. I know what grief is like. I have lost many community members and family members myself. I don't want to give them any more grief. I want us to all be together, to all have each other. 

And yet, they would be proud of me. I know they would be proud of me. They would be proud that I had died on my feet, instead of on my knees as so many other people in my community are forced to die. I would die for standing up for my people, for my dignity, for our collective dignity, and for our Mother. I have been able to speak the truth - if only a bit of it - to the overclass and I have been able to make them see. This is so much more than most people can ever dream of. And my family would be grateful that I got this chance. I am dying because I was strong in the face of the overclass, not because I was worked to death by the overclass. 

That doesn't mean that I want to die. But, truly, I don't want to live either. I never wanted to live. Not this trudging, drudging, horrible life. Not this life of constant pain and suffering and loss and grief and work, work, so much work. Leaving this life is an escape. And death is a freedom. It is the final freedom. I have long longed for this final freedom to come and take me, and I guess I have my wishes manifested into reality now. And honestly, there is a large part of me that is looking forwards to my death, though a large part of me is terrified. 

But my family and my community will miss me so much. They'll be proud of me, they'll be relieved for me, they'll be happy for me. But they'll miss me so much. And that's not fair. That's so not fair. 

But no matter what, I am going to go down with dignity. I will die on my feet. And being able to die on my feet will make my death worth it. Worth it for myself and worth it for everyone who has ever loved me. 

We drive to a place that is full of tall, tall glass buildings which stretch up and up and up to the sky. There are streets all around me, and false, glowing trees. I am yanked out of the vehicle and pulled into a stage in the middle of a large square. This stage is really ornate, made of carved rock in flowing and swirling patterns, the stage floor itself rising and falling like fabric in the wind. There are seats in front of it and about a third of those seats ard filled with people. The chain of my collar is tied to a metal post. If it can be described as a post, it's so twisting and curving. 

I stand here, and I look over the crowd. The seats are slowly filling up, as I am standing on my feet on the stage, looking out undaunted. The seats are slowly filling up until they become full. Everyone looks at me. I have all their attention. And I know what I must do now. 

I tell a story. 

In the middle of the story, a pair of guards walks up to me and tells me to shut up. The crowd boos them down and tells them to let me finish. After I am finished, I am shot in the head. Everything is burning pain, and then there is no pain at all. I find myself in a meadow. 

If you like this piece check out my Mastodon my account is FSairuv@mas.to and I post about human rights, social justice, and the environment.