No one thought of her as a prisoner - just the opposite. In a land of economic slavery (with the slave rate increasing daily), she was among the fortunate very few who live in mansions in the floating world above the clouds. Of course, once having tasted life up there her most consuming fear in life is to fall from her lofty perch back into the real world to live at the mercy of daily savagery and inhumanity endured by the poor. But to stay, she must sin.
She was part of the Church-On-Sunday-So-I-Can-Sin-On-Monday crowd, the largest and most lethal terrorist group in the world. With her sin thusly sanctioned she joined the conservative Limousine Left who love to pose as liberals. In other words, she's all for equality - just as long as she keeps her comfortable way of life. She found a large contingent of fellow posers on the west coast and they dutifully assured each other of their divinity with impassioned speeches against the injustices of the world; street preachers in the clouds.
It is said we live in a "man's world" but since everything is the opposite of what it is the truth is we live in a woman's world, full of needy men wholly dependent on women for life. "Lord of the Flies" does not work on an island full of girls. But in order to avoid blame and responsibility, moron men were ordered by women to run the world ("Ain't no woman of mine gonna work!" the slave mentality boasts), bringing ruin to both genders. But since she too gave up on herself, she gave into guilt and did her duty according to the world's demand: self-betrayal.
She rotted over the years, hiding her misery more and more. She was always finding an excuse for self-betrayal: her husband, her children, her religion. They each made demands of her, giving a false purpose to life. She slowly convinced herself she was in actuality "a nothing", thus making her soul's sacrifice a virtue. Denial redefined from deadly to divine. In this way she came to see herself as being "responsible" when used for sex, hiding truth from her children, and feeling worthless for God. But all she really was, was a prisoner.
Desperate to cover up her crimes, she secretly gave wholesale thanks for sex traffickers, the chosen enemy of her state. While having never defended her own womanhood (that would cost her her place among the clouds!), she lashed out at "evil fiends" who preyed upon females. Above all, she needed to find an enemy to point to for her woes. Thus a woman who trafficked her own sex for profit was able to pose as a protector of women. Everything is the opposite of what it is.
But one Sunday, she felt the priest was staring directly into her heart.
"There's no possible hope in hiding." As a repressed homosexual he was speaking of his darkest moments, cut off from love. Feeling that no one in his congregation could understand his hell - that they must be normal people leading normal lives - he wrapped his confession in the words of Jesus about shining one's light and not to hide it. Thus a man who hid his light drew praise for a moving sermon impassioned by urging others to shine theirs. Everything is the opposite of what it is.
But the damage was done. To have her fate so clearly expressed jarred her into panic. She'd read the stories, she'd passed through the poorer streets; the outside world holds endless horrors. How could someone who's lived in a cocoon all her life have the courage to break out? There's no possible hope in hiding. She needed a friend, someone to whom she did not have to lie. But to reveal herself to even one person was to risk everything.
Forced to face she had no hope her personality turned dark and bitter; conservative. She gave judgmental commentary during gossip. "Why can't Debby get her act together? Stop complaining. Just do it!" She then complained she was tired of people not taking responsibility for their lives. "I just can't understand it." She even twisted herself into saying Republicans have a point. "You can't expect others to fix your life for you!" But never was she speaking of anyone but herself.
As time passed, her complaining became angrier and more pervasive. She talked of liberal fools, her new medical ailments, an overall lack of faith in God, people refusing to come clean, and warned how she was "running out of patience." She knew that in this world, in this life, with her vast riches and with her reproductive duties fulfilled, no one could call her a loser. But no matter how fervently she prayed or passed herself off as a moral beacon, she could not find rest or refuge.
Her truest friends - "liberal idiots" - she pushed away. Most vexing was when they showed comfort and kindness to her. She asked them to stop, explaining: "because I need someone to hate." To which one insulted companion replied, "You're just a real fucking bitch now, aren't you?" That soothed her need for hate - and also gave her a new goal in life: to piss off everyone still living in hope. "Dear Lord, please help me spite my enemies!" Just never mind she was adversarial of love.
But while nothing gave her more satisfaction than punching a liberal in the nose, that only supplied a short term fix for her craving. She needed more; wading into the sea of illusion, bathing in distorted reality, untethering herself from truth. At last she had found an Answer. She evangelized the way of illusion, to free yourself of phony facts, and offered praise of a world "unfairly maligned on a daily basis by the rabid left." As she had lost faith in herself, the more desperate she became to prop up the doomed institutions that had made and kept her life in the clouds.
Her compatriots - being less further down the road to insanity - were repelled by the growing obviousness of her delusional state. But to rebuke her was to be declared enemy and outcast. The word "unbalanced" began to be thrown around. But with a new President as her Pied Piper gleefully leading her to the unpromised land, she was surer than ever over the correctness of her course. After all, hadn't she escaped reality's clutches before by unearned virtue of her wealth?
Age only increased her venom and vitriol. No one wanted to be around her, always having to walk on eggshells; "babysitting." But "only we few are on the path to righteousness" she rationalized her more isolated state. She said it proved she spoke the truth. But the years of rot took its toll on her mind. Dementia crept in with her constantly repeating the same thing, as if she couldn't get it through anyone's thick skull. Finally, she was placed in a home, to die among strangers, her years of vicious slander unknown to them.
Though privately loathed and despised, everyone spoke well of her at the funeral, harkening back to her days before the open descent. She'd never allowed in a friend to save her. Those who'd honestly tried to help did not attend. But in the afterlife, hearing the good words said about her she wailed. "No! No! I was a fucking bitch! Don't lie about me now! Someone speak the truth or I'll be buried forever..."
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