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"The Flock" They didn’t notice when it started. One tweet. Then another. Then the rockets. At first they laughed. Then they watched. Then they followed. Not because they were told to. Because everyone else was. The field was wide and loud, full of noise and doubt and coins and chaos. But on the hill stood a figure in black, pointing at the stars. And below him, the flock moved as one. They weren’t dumb. They were tired. Tired of waiting, tired of thinking, tired of being left behind. So they chose belief. They chose momentum. They chose to trust the man building bridges to Mars while the rest of us argued in the comments. Some called it blind. They called it faith. Some called it a cult. They called it a mission. Every time he posted an X, the field shifted. Every time he said "to the moon," the grass bent in that direction. Not sheep. Pilgrims. Not followers. Builders. Because in a world that screams, sometimes you follow the one voice that’s building in silence.