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There once was a little boy who had absolutely no work ethic.
He wasn’t born with any special talents, but that wasn’t the source of his undoing. Talents are things you earn, but this boy was incapable of putting in the effort necessary to become worthy of respect.
Rather than engage in self-examination, he became enraged. He felt that the world owed him adoration. He felt this was his racial right (whatever that meant). Realizing that respect would always be denied, he became aggrieved.
His anger caused him to lash out.
Rather than work hard or improve himself or participate in anything, he stood on the sidelines and engaged in mockery.
In the early days, the authority figures abdicated their responsibilities. His parents, his teachers, the members of his community all stepped aside and let him have his tantrums.
They might have said, “What you’re doing is wrong. Though this destruction makes you feel strong, you’ll pay for it in the end, as will everyone.”
But they were lazy and irresponsible.
Rather than provide compassionate guidance, they instead provided malicious justification.
“Other kids create and this boy destroys. That’s his identity. We can’t be critical. That will only make him feel bad about himself. The world needs destruction too.”
The good kids felt betrayed and went silent while the boy who could only destroy strutted across the stage.
He stomped into rooms. He watched decent people tremble at his approach. He’d been given permission to unleash destruction, and the meek knew they’d be punished if they defended themselves.
The boy felt powerful from knowing he could take away everything the other kids had spent so much time and effort and labor to create.
He’d come on the scene, and in seconds all that work would be undone.
This behavior went on for years.
The boy who could only destroy grew into the body of a man, but in his mind he remained that scared, talentless, bitter, and self-loathing little boy.
It got so that everything beautiful in the world was something he wanted to see destroyed. He couldn’t appreciate art for its own sake. He could only fixate on leaving destruction in his wake.
So he laughed and he insulted and he screamed and he jeered. He waited for others to attempt difficult things, and he’d pounce. He’d pick moments of peak vulnerability and sabotage. All the works of good people came crashing down.
He laughed long and loud and soon began to draw a crowd.
Now, the people who came were the worst people in the world. They were others who lacked a work ethic and who had been defiled by grievance. The boy who could only destroy hated these followers. But it pleased him that they’d provide some approximation of the adulation he felt he’d deserved.
So he endured them, though he frequently and openly mocked them when the mood took hold.
Unchanged and unevolved, he stomped through his time.
He brayed like a donkey as he crushed kindness and decency beneath his heel. He left wreckage where beauty had once taken root.
Then he laughed and guffawed and let spittle trickle down his chin.
The other people tried to avoid him. They went off to practice their skills in secret. The boy who could only destroy followed anyway. He always had the strength to be a bully.
Some of the kids he pestered gave up and came over to his ranks. They found it easier to ridicule others than to try and better themselves. Their numbers grew, and more and more people who actually tried to be good and decent and hard working were made to suffer.
The boy who could only destroy sent his minions far and wide. Their orders were to topple anything that made them feel bad about themselves. They burned books and generosity and truth.
They knew they could never attain the heights reached by great people. So, they decided to bring the whole world down to their level. They wanted to erase history and insisted that periods of prosperity had never existed.
The boy who could only destroy never achieved anything, and the world was plunged into misery.
His destructions grew bigger and bigger. It was always subtraction. Millions of people suffered for his actions.
Then billions.
The boy who could only destroy watched it all and laughed and made a mockery of their misery.
The good people were silent because they’d been scolded so long ago that the feelings of the boy who could only destroy meant more than their own.
Then something changed.
It didn’t happen all at once. It started with a whisper. It became a roar.
The good, decent, hard-working people became fed up with the status quo.
They got fed up with living beneath the cruelty of the boy who could only destroy.
They rejected the lie they’d been told so long ago.
“There is nothing to admire about you,” they said. “You don’t have any talents. You don’t embody power. You’re nothing but weakness. We want you to leave. We want you to go.”
The boy who could only destroy laughed because that’s all he’d ever known. He mocked them. He stomped his feat. He raged and roared and threatened. “If you don’t obey me, I’ll destroy everything.”
But the people looked around at the wreckage of their world, and for the first time they laughed back. “Your threats mean nothing. You’ve destroyed everything already. There’s nothing more for you to take or break. What now?”
The boy who could only destroy looked around and realized it was true. Without beauty in the world, he had no power. What was left for him to do?
“You’re on the same level as the rest of us,” the people said. “You’re right back where you started from. You can’t lift yourself up by stomping on our heads. All you can do is bring us all down. Now we’ve seen the truth. Though you pluck out our eyes and burn all our books, you’ve been exposed. The universe knows.”
The boy who could only destroy gave them a defiant look and a sneer. He insulted their intelligence. Then he retreated into his bunker.
There was a noise.
Then silence.
Then the good people, older and wiser, rolled up their sleeves to begin to build again.
“The next time a boy who can only destroy comes along,” they said, “we’ll educate him decency from the beginning.”
And they did.
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