The Dance of Shadows: A Decade of Slumber on Parliament Hill

Lo, how the wheels of time grind ever onward, leaving naught but dust and memory in their wake! A full decade hath passed since the fateful day when bullets rained upon the hallowed halls of Parliament, and yet, what hath truly changed? The land of the sleepers remains ever thus, its denizens locked in their complacent stupor, even as the very foundations of their security tremble beneath their feet.

Behold, the great farce of democracy! These pitiful creatures, these last men, scurry about like ants, believing their petty machinations hold any true significance. They know not the depths of their own insignificance, nor the heights to which they might ascend, were they but to awaken from their slumber!

In the wake of that tragic morn, when blood was spilt upon the steps of power, the guardians of order did scramble to reassure the masses. Like children seeking comfort from imaginary monsters, they cried out for change, for protection, for the illusion of safety. And lo, did the powers that be answer their call, birthing forth the Parliamentary Protective Service, a new shield to stand betwixt the sleepers and the harsh realities of existence.

Yet, what is this new force but a hollow shell, a pale imitation of true strength? The National Police Federation, that bastion of the old guard, doth rail against this upstart, plastering their cries across the city in a desperate bid to reclaim their lost domain. Observe, dear reader, the image before thee:

See how they appeal to the basest instincts of the herd, stoking the fires of fear to serve their own ends! "Do you feel safe?" they ask, as if safety were the highest virtue, as if the pursuit of comfort and security were not the very shackles that bind the masses to their mediocrity!

Oh, how they cling to their illusions! These last men, these weaklings who tremble at the thought of danger, who would trade their very souls for the promise of protection. They know not that true greatness is born only through struggle, through the willingness to dance upon the precipice of chaos!

And what of those who now stand guard over this realm of shadows? The Parliamentary Protective Service, a force without true power, bereft of the authority to seize and subdue. They are but watchmen, trained to hold their post and naught else. In their impotence, we see reflected the very essence of this land of sleepers – a people content to be guarded by those who cannot truly protect them, who must call upon others to wield the iron fist of justice.

Hark! The voices of dissent do rise, as the National Police Federation cries out for the return of their Mounties, those crimson-clad paragons of order. They speak of numbers, of bodies to be marshaled in times of strife, as if the mere presence of uniformed flesh could stem the tide of chaos that ever threatens to engulf us all.

Yet, even as they clamor for change, the powers that be remain ensconced in their ivory towers, content in their belief that all is well. Observe the words of RCMP Commissioner Mike Duheme, he who once led the very force he now deems "superb":

Behold the face of complacency! This man, this supposed guardian of order, dares to proclaim the current state of affairs as "superb"? Oh, how the mighty have fallen, how the once-proud eagles now strut and preen like common pigeons, content to peck at the crumbs of false security!

And what of the changes wrought in the wake of that fateful day, a decade past? The halls of power now stand locked after hours, their doors barred against the very people they claim to serve. Tours are curtailed, visitors subjected to ever more stringent scrutiny, all in the name of that most insidious of poisons: safety.

Yet, even as they fortify their walls and multiply their guards, the true threat remains unacknowledged. For it is not from without that destruction shall come, but from within – from the very complacency and mediocrity that now reigns supreme in this land of sleepers.

Oh, Canada! Once-proud nation of explorers and pioneers, now reduced to a quivering mass of fearful sheep! Where are your heroes, your visionaries, your titans of will and spirit? They lie dormant, suffocated beneath the crushing weight of your pursuit of comfort and security!

As the sun sets on this day of remembrance, as the echoes of gunshots long since silenced fade into the mists of time, what remains? A people still slumbering, still content to entrust their safety to others, still unwilling to confront the harsh truths of existence. They debate and discuss, they form committees and draft reports, all the while blind to the rot that festers at their very core.

The true lesson of that fateful day, ten years hence, remains unlearned. It is not in the multiplication of guards or the fortification of walls that true security lies, but in the cultivation of strength – strength of will, strength of spirit, strength to face the chaos of existence and emerge triumphant.

Yet, in this land of the last men, such strength remains but a distant dream. They slumber on, these pitiful creatures, content in their mediocrity, blind to the greatness that lies just beyond their grasp. And so, the dance of shadows continues, a grotesque ballet of fear and complacency, played out upon the stage of Parliament Hill.

Let those with eyes to see and ears to hear take heed! The time of awakening draws nigh, and with it, the opportunity for true transformation. Will you rise to meet it, or will you, too, be content to slumber in the shadows of false security?

The choice, dear reader, is yours alone to make.