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Integrity was on its knees, gasping its last breath, cut down and cast aside far too easily by the behemoth attacking the battlements of Decency Bridge.

At Integrity’s side lay Logic’s slaughtered corpse and Common Sense’s decapitated remains. Of Facts, there was barely a trace left to identify. At one time, Facts was a formidable warrior, easily repelling its feeble opponents. Now it had been swept aside as if no more than a troublesome fly.

Complacency was the cause. Complacency, greed, and the self-serving stewardship of rich men who cared nothing for their charges. For years, the behemoth whose name couldn’t be spoken had been kept at bay, sedated by the sentinels who now lay slain at its feet. For years, until the self-serving parasites fed the monster in plain sight, so not one of us can absolve ourselves of the blame, until it became the destructive giant now trying its best to demolish Decency Bridge.

One after another, the once respected guardians of Decency Bridge launched their attacks on the terrible beast. And one after another they were obliterated, the battleground littered with their discarded shells – Rationality, Tolerance, Knowledge, and that old stalwart, Reasoned Argument, all dead.

It seemed the end was inevitable. Every weapon in the armoury had been employed to no avail. None even so much as dented the rampaging monster.

The captain of the guard wearily removed his helmet and wiped his brow. ‘You know what? That’s it. I’ve had enough of this garbage. It’s way past time to do what we all know is really needed.’

‘You don’t mean?’ his lieutenant replied, shocked her captain would even hint at such a thing. This was not the way they normally did things.

‘Yes, I bloody do. Lower the drawbridge and let’s tackle this beast in the way we should have when it first reared its ugly head.’

It was only when the inhabitants of Decency Bridge finally allowed Patience to run out and confront the behemoth by bludgeoning it with its real name, Stupidity, that they could slap it back down again, knock it to its knees, and force it back into the dark depths where it belonged.

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Jack Montgomery

Jack is an author, travel writer, photographer, and a Slow Travel consultant who has been writing professionally for twenty years. Follow Jack on Facebook for information about his writing, travel tips, photographs, and tales of life in a tiny rural village in Somerset.

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Welcome to my Canvas

Some of the items on this site won’t be to everyone’s liking, I get that. Basically this is my place, my wee studio to mess around in – experimenting with words and thoughts. I’ll be chuffed if you enjoy it, but if you don’t, c’est la vie. As a friend used to tell me “it would be a boring life if we all thought the same.”

Jack Montgomery
A wine press,
On a farm at the end of the dirt track,
The Setúbal Peninsula,