Quoted By:
--------------
Christine wins with 5 votes
-------------
Gently pushing the people around you, you reach the front and see the submarine in all its splendour, polished metal with a golden colour and full of delicately crafted details.
As soon as the doors open, you enter, expecting something similar to the conditions on the ship, but reality hits you. The interior is beautiful, reminding you of the theatres where you used to perform. Soft music plays in the background and the smell of cinnamon rolls fills your nose. You quickly fix your travelling dress and your hair as best you can. For a woman like you, being in these conditions and in such a refined place would be a total crime, but you make an exception to your social convictions this time, carrying your suitcase where you have several dresses, some haute couture, make-up and some of your old sheet music, you enter the submarine.
Followed by several more of the same unfortunate souls who have been with you on the ship, you walk in a refined manner, exploring the place with your eyes and taking a seat at one of the tables.
When everyone is settled inside the ostentatious submarine, the hatches close with a loud metallic sound, signalling that there is no turning back.
You can see through the window as you slowly submerge into the sea, as everything slowly becomes dark and fish swim around you.
Several employees and managers of the submarine appear among the people, dressed in very refined suits and shiny black bow ties. The men give a presentation talking about ‘the city under the sea’ and here you finally learn the name of this prodigious place: ‘Rapture’.
Several minutes pass as the managers talk about the city while waiters dressed in the finest suits and with the best manners serve the diners. Hot cinnamon rolls, luxurious dishes and expensive wines are served throughout the venue.
‘To conclude this presentation, a few words from the founder of Rapture!’
announces one of the managers. Slowly, a curtain is lowered , the lights go off and a film begins to play.
<span class="mu-i"> I am Andrew Ryan and I'm here to ask you a question: </span>
<span class="mu-i"> "is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?" </span>
<span class="mu-i"> "no!" says the man in Washington it belongs to the poor </span>
<span class="mu-i"> "no!" says the man in the Vatican it belongs to God </span>
<span class="mu-i"> "no!" says the man in Moscow it belongs to everyone </span>
<span class="mu-i"> I rejected those answers instead I chose something different </span>
<span class="mu-i"> I chose the impossible </span>
<span class="mu-i"> I chose Rapture </span>
the curtain is raised, revealing the city of Rapture through the window.
<span class="mu-i"> sitting where the artist would not be incense </span>
<span class="mu-i"> where a scientist would not be bound by Petty morality </span>
<span class="mu-i"> where great would not be constrained by the small </span>
<span class="mu-i"> and with the sweat of your brow Rapture , can become your city as well </span>
