Buckley Pierce had lost the last lie in life; 55 and time to die. His devil's bargain with the devil's world finally expired yet his middle-aged body lived on. He hadn't counted on this tragic timing. To live now would be to live inside a coffin in a grave, buried alive, no one to hear his screams - and worse yet - no one to revive his dead dreams. Such is the fate of a corporate cunt.
He hadn't always been a hatchet man setting up innocents for betrayal. In the beginning he served an actual purpose for the big box company. But as times changed he did not; outmoded and outdated. He had to invent a new way of serving his masters, and that was by being willing to do any dirty deed he was told. He'd write up underlings on the flimsiest of excuses - even outright fabricate if needed - and then railroad whomever he was directed to right out the door. He told himself it was kill or be killed.
The big test was the massive management reorg where no one was safe. Surviving that meant more than just slitting someone's throat. He had to find a way to take the place of a legitimate person who actually contributes. Just how much did his masters value him? Buckley took sick pleasure when he heard the news a competent person would be thrown out into the street so he could keep his place. The executives knew the loyal dog they were buying because they knew their days of ill intent were far from over.
Curiously, the worse Buckley felt about what he was doing, the more he defended it. Savagery was his way through this world and he prayed to it as his god, teaching his twin children the necessity of being cutthroat. He donated money to church to buy off his Maker. He paid off his wife with gifts as he as a person had less and less to offer. "I must be savage! I have nothing without it!"
Painfully white feeling painfully entitled, this drowning rodent fed on a diet of desperation. But at some point the corporate Judas becomes a liability to his masters, evidence to be rid of. The rats in charge could barely contain their laughter when they betrayed the betrayer with a smile and a handshake. It was only then Buckley realized the true price of his previous treachery.
He'd been living the Aryan dream of assumed superiority. Hiding in one of the last vestiges of white male dominion deep within the tangled web of modern corporate bureaucracy, Buckley had grown drunk on a feeling of invincibility and privilege. He'd subscribed to the "might makes right" theory, that he couldn't be wrong in what he was doing if he were allowed to do it. That justified every knife he put in every back. On this day, however, "Buckley the Butcher" got butchered.
Now it was his turn to ponder life without a future. (Actually, those he helped terminate were better situated at the time of their demise having led more honest lives.) Buckley was too old and too withered to start over. In reality he'd become a charity case. Then the devil came to take his due.
Rage. Red seething rage. Without the bribe of his protected position, his true feelings could no longer be held back, the dam had burst. Always a right winger, he radicalized into joining the Konservative Krist Killers, who blamed the ills of the world on everyone but themselves. Buckley's appalled wife divorced him when he started bringing assault rifles home "for the coming race war." Even after realizing his corporate masters had used him and thrown him away he still could not let go of his old ways.
For the rest of his miserable existence Buckley spewed filthy hate, a victim of "our savior Jesus's betrayal", forever seeking acceptance without penance among the world's losers. A man who preached to his children "money over dreams" ended with neither; lost and alone in a sea of darkness, flailing and screaming to his bitter lonely death.
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