The End of Nonsense
They gathered in Unity Hall for the final vote. For years, their city had wallowed in nonsense—rumors passed for truth, slogans replaced policies, and every decision was drowned in the swamp of endless, meaningless debates. But tonight, that would end.
Mayor Elisa Trent stood at the podium. A sharp-featured woman with silver-streaked hair and eyes like wet stone, she commanded attention the moment she spoke. “It’s time to put an end to this nonsense,” she declared, her voice slicing the murmuring crowd like glass. “Facts will rule this city—not fear, not slogans, not hollow promises.”
The city of Greyfold had once been a hub of industry, invention, and learning. Its universities led in technology and medicine. Its factories powered half the continent. But then the Council of Hearsay rose to power, and truth became optional.
First came the lies: that the air filters in the industrial sector were unnecessary; that the rising cancer cases were “just coincidence.” Then the slogans: “Breathe Free, Live Free,” even as children wheezed through polluted streets. Facts, studies, and reports—burned in public squares as “foreign conspiracies.” Those who questioned vanished overnight.
That was ten years ago.
Now the facts were back, hidden in secret files, whispered in basements, smuggled on forbidden paper. Elisa Trent herself had spent five years underground, leading the Greyfold Resistance, assembling the truth piece by piece—environmental reports, birth records, pollution statistics, missing person lists—all verified, unshakable.
“Councilor Mardrick claimed the River Grey was clean,” Trent said, raising a thick blue file. “This report, stamped by five independent labs, proves that its mercury content is 430% above safe limits. His factories dumped waste at night. Hundreds of children now bear the cost in cancer and birth defects.”
The hall was silent. No chants. No slogans.
She held up a second file. “Councilor Vane assured us the food reserves were full. These satellite photos—smuggled at great risk—show the grain silos empty. Our winter rations were sold to foreign markets for Council profit. Twenty-three died last winter from starvation in the Lower Wards. I have their names.”
Murmurs now. Eyes turned to Vane’s empty seat. He had fled two days ago.
“Enough of the nonsense,” Trent said, her voice iron. “Enough pretending. The Council of Hearsay is dissolved by this assembly’s vote. Effective immediately, their assets are seized, their laws repealed. All scientific data will be restored to public records. Health services will return. Truth will rule Greyfold once again.”
A moment of breathless quiet. Then, a rising sound—real applause. Not choreographed clapping for cameras, but thunderous, free approval.
She turned to the voting screen. One by one, the councilors touched ‘Yes.’ Ten lights. Then twelve. Fourteen. Unanimous.
Outside Unity Hall, the great screens flickered. Gone were the lies: the false smiling faces, the empty slogans. In their place: graphs of river toxicity, lists of missing citizens, hospital records, air quality alerts. Facts. Ugly, necessary, real.
Greyfold would not heal overnight. It would take years to clean the river, to rebuild hospitals, to bury the victims of old lies. But nonsense was finished.
As Trent left the podium, she whispered to herself: “Truth is harder, slower—but it endures.”
And for the first time in a decade, so would Greyfold.
Let me know if you want this extended into a longer story or adapted into another style (like satire or thriller).
