This is a little something that came to me a few months ago. Just a little fictional piece set in another world exploring the subject of idealism. Enjoy!

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“Another pamphlet, eh?” Looking up from his bowl of qor, he was met with the irritatingly smug simper of Citizen Piri Mogran, a short, stubby man with a barrel chest and a nose the size of an ostrich egg. He reeked of the pessimism and narrow mindedness that permeated amongst the lower classes…or perhaps it was just the fish and onion soup he’d eaten for lunch earlier. “Take a look for yourself.” Gem replied flippantly with his best attempt at an unaffected shrug, returning to his food though the stench of the Citizen was enough to ruin his appetite. The laborer wordlessly picked up one of the pamphlets from the small stack and began scanning its contents, a glint of feigned curiosity mixed with derision in his eyes. An amused snort followed shortly into his perusal. “Equality and Justice, eh?” He half inquired, half repeated aloud, eyes slightly squinted as if he were struggling to read the letters clearly. Gem caught the persistent note of condensation in his tone. “You disapprove?” He asked, returning his comrade’s subtle gibing with his own. Piri’s dismissal of any and all attempts at social and political reform was well known to him and everyone else who knew the man. “Disapproval would imply that I take such notions seriously, which, as you well know, I do not.” Replied Piri without looking up from the pamphlet as he finished his look-through. Another snort came from his nostrils as he silently read the last sentence and with that he gently tossed the flyer back onto the table next to the stack, the paper soiled by his hands, stained by the red dye he worked with from dawn to dusk. Looking down at him with a broken toothed grin, he seemed slightly imposing to Gem despite his short height, his pervasive nonchalance emanating a confidence the younger man secretly envied. “A bit old for fairytales, aren’t we, Citizen?” Said Piri, his quip an anticipated one yet it still managed to chip at Gem’s youthful ego. Nonetheless, his equally youthful defiance held out and wasn’t about to depart any time soon. “If by fairytales you mean “progress”, Citizen, then the answer is no.” He replied hotly, “I find it fascinating that a man who has devoted his life to manual labor should be disinclined to such a word.” His attempt at disarming his unwanted lunch companion was in vain, as the stocky laborer only grinned wider at this reply. “I’ve no objection to progress in the way of work. Only to the implication that it applies to the creation of a perfect world.” Countered Piri with a shrug of his shoulders, hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets as he moved to take a seat at the small, wobbly table across from Gem, the girth of his large stomach causing the table to sway, nearly knocking over the younger citizen’s lukewarm glass of zuka in the process. Shoveling another forkful of qor into his mouth, Gem willed himself to think of a halfway eloquent rejoinder, determined to render the narrow-minded dyer open minded. “Does the laborer not strive to achieve perfection in his work?” He said evenly, reaching for his zuka without meeting the other man’s gaze. Arms folded on his protruding belly, Piri nodded. “Aye, but even the most skilled laborer knows to seek perfection in his own talents is foolish. One must simply content himself with near-perfection.” He remarked, no longer grinning yet smiling a smile that made his large face expand like a puddle. This response caused Gem to relax somewhat, leaving room for a more aggressive argument to be made. “Near-perfection would suggest the possibility of perfection, does it not?” He ventured cautiously, trying not to make a face as he was hit by a sudden unpleasant aftertaste from the zuka. “Perhaps.” Said Piri, his voice betraying nothing as he continued to pierce the other man with his gaze, “And yet perhaps the idea of perfection or the possibility of it exists only in our minds as consolation for our faults.” The laborer’s words did little to quell the latter’s hunger for philosophical superiority. “Surely if fault exists perfection is undeniable.” Gem coaxed, believing this was a sound statement. “Evidently, Citizen.” Said Piri nodding once again, “But in the case of human nature one would be foolish to suggest the capacity for perfection.” “How so?” Pressed Gem, “Why toil if not to achieve some greater end?” “We exist not by our own design but at the pleasure of divinity, whoever or whatever that may be.” Retorted Piri with the same resilient nonchalance that made him so irritating. Gem found himself growing tired of this conversation, his desire to evangelize his cause dissipating by the minute. “How can you accept such a vague explanation? The empire under which you are yolked was founded upon the belief of a perfect world, that there exists a perfect order to be found in the world. While I reject the notion that starvation and social inequality are indicative of a perfect state, I also maintain that perfection is indeed possible if one holds true to his ideals.” He spat out frustratedly. This burst of emotion brought the wolfish grin back to Piri’s bloated features. Gem resisted the urge to swipe it off his face with his fist. Removing his greasy hat, he wiped at his brow with it before returning it to his greasy head as he gave what Gem hoped was his closing statement. “You wield ideals like a woman wields a broom against spider’s webs. Like a broom, ideals may keep the clutter away for a day or two but eventually the webs return and once again you find yourself powerless against the strange divinity of nature.” The dyer’s words unnerved him, angered him. Suddenly the bowl of qor in front of him turned to a pile of slimy, red worms, the thought of eating another mouthful turning his stomach. Attempting to distract himself from the churning of his insides, he set his jaw and offered the man seated before him an unbothered expression as he gave his rebuttal. “I fear you give spiders far too much credit, Citizen. You speak of them as if they cannot easily be crushed beneath one’s boot. That is what I mean to do with the spiders within the imperial palace and the dachma. Webs cannot be woven if there are no spiders left to weave them. We are not like them, you and I, for we do not ensnare and feed off our own to satisfy our hunger.” His last ditch effort at carefully worded persuasion did not have the desired effect, as the smugness of the man across from his was indomitable. Standing from his seat, with a repeated near knocking over the table, Piri Mogran reached out and took the half finished glass of zuka in his meaty hand, ignoring Gem’s disgusted glare. “We are all spiders, little Gemushka. Like spiders, we too shall eat our own when the time comes. The webs of degeneracy exist within every corner of this world and will only continue to expand and thicken regardless of our efforts to sweep them away.” Without another word he downed the remaining zuka and, setting the glass down with a soft thud, made his way back down the street, leaving the young advocate alone with his thoughts and abandoned meal once again.