The Proud Pedestal

Ayn was a woman of greatness, from both innateness and restless nights spent working on grand heights. She'd never been one to pry or cry, even to the unknown guy who wanted to own her. She was the owner, the master of herself and none else.

Yet the people pleaded and competed for her attention, for her detention. "Ayn, understand! We have no pedestal, nowhere to stand. Command us, lead us. Delete us." Thus did she step off her height for but a fortnight, clinging to her microphone tight as she addressed the addressless. 

"I can not help you achieve greatness. It is a tortuous process, one too many divest themselves of by seeking fake-love and hollow camaraderie. You ask me to be your source of tragedy when you speak this fallacy."

But still, heedless, they insisted on not being needless. On not being leadless in a world so seemingly careless and unchecked. This was a direct disregard of she who truly held humanity in the highest regard.

And it got worse, with random people protesting outside her yard. But Ayn never surrendered, never let down her guard, even as her house was charred. With windows and doors barred, she remained a die hard.

Even as she died hard, she stayed a vanguard. Undaunted and vaunted by the people who truly wanted to be happy and understood that such a thing was impossible if you never withstood your own wild woods. A rough neck with no treck or track back to a place without brack.

To all those who could and should, never let yourself be fed someone else's cheap shood.