Dexter was proud as he could ever be crashing through the front door of his domicile.
"Boy, you shoulda seen it!" he gestured incoherently to Derrick, his roommate. "Dem fools was all up an' in it! Had 'em barking like a buncha drunk dogs, I did!"
Dexter displayed the joy of a man newly saved, a validated soul destined for immortality. He glowed with the certainty of a true believer being his own god.
Derrick, sitting on a faded velour couch with his faded velour mustache, took no notice of any of this. To him, Dexter was a clown's clown, incapably serious. No matter how excited Dexter got about anything, Derrick preemptively dismissed it. Secretly, he called him "Jethro Bodine - only more evil."
Vaping on vacuity, Derrick felt obligated to throw the barking dog a bone. "Oh, really, Dexter? Sounds great - like a rusty circumcision."
Dexter was a man who sliced his news to what he would comfortably digest. He heard "Sounds great" and took that as an invitation to share even more of his misadventure.
"Yeah, I know! It's this shirt what got 'em!" Daffy Dexter stretched forth his proud-boy "Black Lives Splatter" shirt portraying the picture of a policeman with a pointed gun standing over the bloodied body of a black man with red drops emanating outward in chorused death.
Derrick never looked up as he had already considered the source of his conversational other. "Yup, shirts'll do that."
Getting no gratification from Derrick, Dexter excitedly seated himself on his own torn leather sofa. He perched himself as if unopened presents sat below him. And in his mind, such was the case as he began to verbally unwrap them.
"Oh, man, was them libs riled up. I pwned them! Couple of 'em even tried ripping my shirt off. And they be trying to tell me I gotta be tolerant and shit? The nerve!" Still no reaction from an unseduced Derrick. Dexter attempted further enticements. "Shoulda seen how red their faces were! Just made me start laughin' and laughin' away. Best I felt in a long time. Fucking libs a buncha losers!"
"True dat. Have to be a real loser to care what you think."
Dexter continued in oblivious splendor. "Got that right! Always on their high horse! Well, I took 'em down a notch today! All is right in the world!"
Dexter meets a new friend!
Taking that as a challenge, the world deemed to have "Dopey Don" (as so monikered by Dexter) knock on the same entry door Dexter had so joyously burst through minutes before. Dopey Don was Dexter's arch enemy in the open wild. "That idiot don't know a whit of shit but always thinks he does. Stupid son-of-a-bitch needs to look in the damn mirror for once!" With this deepest of insight he sought to pluck the splinter from Don's eye.
Don came armed with his own hot take on the day's dueling protests. "Man, what a faggot convention! You see all those MAGA caps? Make America Gay Again. Who the hell puts that on their forehead?"
An upended Dexter boiled in righteous outrage. "It's 'great', you idiot! 'Great' not 'Gay'! You hear me?"
"Dude, you think gay is great, fine by me. Bet your parents real proud of you!"
Dexter had unresolved parental issues just like any right wing lunatic. "Leave my Daddy out of this! Can't you understand anything! It's 'great', not 'gay'!"
"I see your lips moving but I can't hear what you're saying."
"Jesus H Christ, you just hear what you want to hear, don't you? I'm so sick of it. That kind of behavior can't just never be tolerated! How can you not see that? What kind of fool are you??"
Don cupped his hear as if hard of hearing. "I'm sorry: homo says what?"
Derrick, who'd watched the scene as if he were watching an amusing tennis match, let loose a sly grin at the explosion that was Dexter who shot off the sofa.
"I've had enough! Not taking this librul shit no more ever again. When you want to stop bein' a hypocrite and a dern fool let me know! But till then don't talk to me no more! Dang you to hell!"
With a final indignant glare, Dexter slammed his bedroom door and sealed it with sulking fury. Back in the airy living room, Don plopped down on the now-vacated sofa, easing his outstretched arms over the cushions and making himself at home. Then he nonchalantly remarked to no one: "Pwned that bitch..."
[Editor's note. This is a transcript of a recording made shorty before Goupil's suicide. He must have felt it was too personal to commit to paper and only by luck was the cassette noticed and saved. That said, perhaps this is the most important piece in the puzzle that was Goupil.]
I am liar. Everything with my life is lie. Yes, I kill many, but this I feel is greatest crime. Do not forgive me.
End is near. I not know how or when but is coming. I feel to tell this truth, it will happen in stupid way but happen it does. So best to confess while is time. My voice heavy in grieving. It never stops. Never will.
Some ask: why assassinate? I tell why. I tell why all assassins are: because that's what we are. If this sound obvious then you never listen to me. Assassins are made, not born. It is not a life of choice.
I find about me short after I leaving school. I was lost in the world, doing bad jobs like I expect for me to do rest my life. I write before how I fall into underworld. But I leave out my real first kill: Cheri.
This hard to get out. I am staccato in speaking. Cheri sent to save me, is clear now. For me, she was perfect in every way. But the step for me, from me to her, seem like canyon I can never cross. I know now things change when you face them and maybe had I face her things not as I fear. This I cannot get over.
Oh, the excitement, the ecstasy, just the joy of hearing her voice take me to place of heaven. How could this dream be for me? I am not trusting myself. I run away so she not see me inadequate. But this drive me crazy out of my head. I on roller coaster ride I cannot get off. I can find no relief, my heart ready to explode. I know is life and death.
Then I break.
I kill the one sent to save me. What kind of self traitor do this? I let down whole of universe for gift I refuse. For someone else to have her, this too much for me. That body so perfect - never match since - had to be mine, to be in heaven on top of world like I anyone deserve. Never can I leave this moment, my cheat, this dirty secret of secrets.
Yes, I fall in with bad people after that, leading to life of criminals. But you see? I invite this in! I am not victim of this foul world, I am victim of me, part of the foul. Foul world just excuse I hide behind. This is me, a Judas.
Every killer a Judas. First you kill love in own life then spend rest of life killing others'. You have to, is only way to keep going. Is nightmare of drowning nightmares. See, without dreams is only nightmare left, no middle between. Love is life or death, life is love or death. All killing birthed with cowardice.
So hate me if you must. Many do for many reasons. But no one hate me like I do for I have most knowledge of me. A woman once tell me I have kind heart. This kill me. She not know The Secret that haunt and destroy my life. My whole life since Cheri in this prison. Every liar is punished. I wish not to be these lies that burn down my house, that make you alone in cold world.
Pete and Re-Pete had beat the system. Two mid-level drug dealers making the biggest score of their lives, they'd never have to work again. Unlike the "suckers" out there, they had the world figured out. Pete even fancied his worldly success as a blessing from God, that he was indeed a moral figure (Re-Pete never thought much anything of anything except taking what's in front of him). But Carlos was a drug lord of his own making and that's how Pete and Re-Pete found themselves tied to a pair of chairs in an underground room with their clothes covered in gasoline.
"You think you clever boy!" Carlos accused Pete. "Put your sniper man up high to protect you!" Pete had used Re-Pete as his backup as per their usual plan when making a switch. But Carlos had been one step ahead. It was clearly a case of minor league versus major league.
"Please don't!" screamed Re-Pete, horrified by the sight of the lighter in Pepe's hand (Pepe was Carlos' right hand man.)
"Just take the money! You'll never see us again!" promised Pete.
"What a pair of idiotas we got here, eh, Pepe?" Carlos leaned down into Pete's face. "Hey, smart guy, you know how many times I sell this same cocaine? This make third time! Now that what I call high profit!"
Re-Pete fell into sobs realizing what complete suckers they'd been from the beginning, blinded by their own greed. Now they had no way out. Pete, who fantasized his life a moral endeavor, found his brain short-circuiting as he could find no rationale for his present dire dilemma.
"God won't let you get away with this!" he lashed out. Carlos and Pepe laughed at a response they'd never heard before by a victim about to be killed.
"Eh, Pepe, we got a man of God here! Let's put it to the test and see if God stop this fire. Torch these assholes."
"Wait!" screamed Re-Pete. "I don't care about God at all! I just want to live."
"It too late for that, homie. It dying time now."
Pete felt he had nothing to lose. "One day God will get you! Let us go and God will spare you."
Carlos turned to Pepe with a wry smile. "You get this guy? He looney tune!" Then he turned back to Pete. "You know what? God can suck my dick. How 'bout that?"
"It's true! I believe with all my heart! God exists and God saves."
"Like I said before, let's put that to the test. Roast 'em, Pepe!"
Both the bound victims wailed in protest as Pepe stepped forward. But suddenly Carlos realized he was enjoying himself. "Wait a minute, Pepe," he said waving him back.
"Thank you!" begged Pete, having deceived himself yet again into thinking he was saved.
"You idiotas want to live so bad, then say after me: God, suck my dick!"
Re-Pete blurted it out right away. Pete hesitated. "Please don't make me say that."
"No one make you do anything! God protect you, right? But I got a idea for you. Listen to this."
Carlos held up his large screen phone for the pair to see. "These last guys that buy my dope. Mira este!"
Right before their eyes Pate and Re-Pete saw their fate as three men were burned alive, screaming and wailing and howling from the depths of hell, every second an eternity. Re-Pete was overcome with terror, crying uncontrollably. Pete broke.
"God, suck my dick!"
Carlos laughed like he hadn't in a long time. He wondered why he hadn't noticed before how much fun it is for the cat to play with the mouse before killing it.
"Like Sister Maria say to me: you got no faith, boy. How you gonna face God now saying somethin' like that?"
"But God is true. This isn't right killing us like this."
"Right? What right got to do with it? You think you in a movie or somethin'? It right because I do it. Tell you what, if it make you feel better, you just pretend I'm a cop and you a nigger. Now I got right to kill you!" Carlos confirmed with an approving smile from Pepe how clever this argument was.
"But them niggers deserve it!" Pete crossly declared in complete conviction.
Carlos and Pepe both burst into laughter.
"You get this guy? Mister racist Christian think he somebody! I bet he even vote!"
"I do! Republican always!" proclaimed Pete, misunderstanding all he saw.
"Well, you got no vote here. Glad I talk here first. I'm gonna enjoy toasting you twice as much now."
"What!? I thought you understood! I'm a man of God!"
"Only God here is me! I say what happens, nobody else." Carlos' face turned dark, as it always did on the brink of committing murder.
"Please! How can I prove it?"
The sound of Re-Pete's sobbing filled the cold concrete room. Carlos had had enough of this "man of God."
"This last time I say it. I the only God here. You want to life then you have to please ME! You make your choice and you make it now!" Carlos un-paused the burning video. Pete made his choice.
"I will please you."
"Good! Now since you said God to suck your dick, now you gonna suck mine. Suck it like God's!"
No precept of Pete's previous existence remained intact. From that moment on he was wiped clean, forced to face how unhinged from reality he'd lived his life. He'd convinced himself he was a "good man" who made up for his sins with religious gestures and thus nothing bad should ever happen to him. And yet, this nightmare didn't stop as he watched Carlos walk over putting his crotch in Pete's face as he unzipped his pants.
"Go ahead. Meet your new best friend. Make it happy, your life depend on it!"
Pete thought of the blow jobs he'd received in his life and how powerful it made him feel. As the cock slid into his mouth he felt a sensation he knew he could never un-know, branded for life. Pete still felt he was in a dream, that none of it was happening, and that as he desperately followed Carlos' commands to "work it, bitch", he'd somehow wake up safe in bed. But the last bit of denial vanished as he tasted the bitter, salty cum in his mouth. Where was God, his savior?
Carlos was pleased with himself. "I been too quick torching you punks! Shoulda made all you suck my dick first! OK, Pepe, light 'em up!"
"What!" wailed Pete. He'd pleased his god and that was supposed to bring salvation.
"You still whinin'? Don't you ever stop. Die like a man! You think suckin' my dick gonna save you? Man, what in your head?" But once again an idea hit Carlos has he waved back Pepe. "No, wait. I'm gonna give you a choice."
Carlos walked over to the camera he used for recording and showed it to Pete's face. "Tomorrow, I'm gonna send this to police. They won't see me. Just my dick in your mouth. Then I send to news people. Then it go on internet for whole world to see! You be famous, bitch!" Carlos laughed at the look of horror on Pete's face. Then he felt compelled to lecture the self-righteous hypocrite tied up before him.
"Welcome to the real world. It all about winners and losers. You been thinkin' you a winner, don't you? Now you know different! Know what happens when that video go out? Whole world laugh at you! Your momma gonna be proud when she see you!" Carlos turned to Pepe who chuckled at the thought. "Your girlfriend gonna leave you. No girl gonna suck dick of loser like you. Cops know your face. You gotta go get a job! Maybe janitor. Make ten dollar a hour! How that sound to you?"
Pete was drifting into shock, hearing the words in an out-of-body experience. The entire speech was a litany of nightmares he'd sought to avoid his entire life. He wished for death's escape.
"But then they not even let you do a job after video. Put you on street to die. You ever live on street? I have. You die sloooow. Your knee start hurtin', what you gonna do? Go see doctor? No money! Something go wrong, nothing you can do, just hurt more and die more so people run when they see freak like you. Maybe then you go to votin' and church and see how that work for you! You too stupid to live!"
Carlos snapped his fingers to Pepe and pointed to Re-Pete. Pepe then lit the pool of gasoline at Re-Pete's feet who was quickly engulfed in flames, screaming at the top of his lungs. Pete had slipped into complete shock, losing his mind at the sight of his best friend burned alive after just days ago planning a vacation to Tahiti. Every time his mind tried to re-engage reality it snapped back in horror. Hell was for other people, he'd always assured himself.
The next morning he was alone, the bonds cut from his chair. Re-Pete's charred body was gone but the burn remarks on the concrete remained. Pete was nauseated by the still pungent smell of gasoline on his clothes. He was alive but worse than dead. As promised, the video was released to the world, exposing his foolishness in lifelong shame. He grew a beard and labored at menial jobs until the pandemic came and even those weren't available. Pete ended up on the streets as predicted, wishing he'd never been born and had never believed he was the exception to the world.
My past has caught up with me and I don't know what to do. If only I had just kept my mouth shut before! But I couldn't. She was my most favorite person in the world. I, however, am not. Terrified of rejection, I poisoned what we had, forever fouling her on me. And now here I am the only one who can help her. Un-fucking-believable.
From far above a piano is falling directly where she stands. No one else is near enough to help. I already know she won't listen to a thing I say. I've fallen on hard times without her, I look and feel like shit to boot. Like I said, my past has caught with me.
"Amelie, you need to move from where you are!"
Silence, eyes straight ahead as if I'm not even here.
"I know I was manipulative in the past but this is different. A piano is falling directly where you stand. You have to move!"
She looks down at her phone, checking her email.
"This has nothing to do with you or me. It's just about saving your future. I'd be saying same thing to anyone who's standing where you are."
She scrolls through recent photos.
"Just do me this one thing, please. Just look up. What harm can there be in that? Just look up and see for yourself."
In a flash of hope, she puts her phone in her purse - but only to resume looking defiantly straight ahead, like a Marine during inspection.
"I don't have the words. I don't have the capacity to undo what I've done. I'm terrified even talking to you after what I did. If someone else were here they could save you but I have to stand here and fail knowing it's all my fault. This is beyond unbearable."
So I jumped beside her. "Sorry, God, I can't watch someone else die because of my failings."
I only have time to
In the afterlife I was able hear her thoughts from before.
"Amelie, you need to move from where you are!" I can't believe he has the nerve to think I'd listen to anything he has to say. He's a nonentity.
"I know I was manipulative in the past but this is different. A piano is falling directly where you stand. You have to move!" Don't come whining to me about what you did. Live with it!
"This has nothing to do with you or me. It's just about saving your future. I'd be saying same thing to anyone who's standing where you are." What sounds good for lunch?
"Just do me this one thing, please. Just look up. What harm can there be in that? Just look up and see for yourself." Damn him! Make him go away! I don't want to see anything anymore. That's how I got hurt last time. Never again.
"I don't have the words. I don't have the capacity to undo what I've done. I'm terrified even talking to you after what I did. If someone else were here they could save you but I have to stand here and fail knowing it's all my fault. This is beyond unbearable." I can't move. I've got nowhere else to go. Not letting that idiot know that. Going to close my mind and hope I don't die. I want to be right about something for once.
And so the convict crucified next to Jesus said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom."
Jesus answered him, "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise."
The convicted man thought about that for a minute then a wry smile formed on his lips which then kept building into full blown laughter. "It's true, isn't it?"
"Yes..."
"They do all this for nothing!"
Both men broke into laughter as they fully realized the futile and feckless ways of the world.
The Roman guards who heard the laughter looked up in dire fear as they already suspected they lived their lives in vain, hoping against hope the approval of the world meant the approval of God. It was if their innermost secret fear was being played out in broad daylight and this froze the guards in paralysis, helpless bystanders to what may come.
The guard captain, who'd long ago eschewed his soul as a useless hindrance, turned to hear the laughter and the sound of it ripped through his being as sharply as the nails had the crucified men. In his agony he rushed over to cease the piercing pain.
"You two shut up! There's no laughing on a cross!"
But that was as if he'd spoken the punchline to a joke the captain was wholly inadequate to understand, causing a fresh burst of laughter. Flustered, the captain whirled around to see if anyone noticed him and to his horror found every eye within sight to be upon him. He fell back on his tried and true methods.
"I order you to be quiet!" That was a quick failure and the captain felt as ants were crawling over his entire body. In sheer desperation to assert an authority he did not have, he decried, "You've been convicted by our holy courts! You criminals are fools!" When that too failed, the captain could no longer fight the feeling he'd been stripped naked before the world, thus revealing no one had reason to listen to anything he had to say regardless of his so-called rank. The captain fled, much to the the astonishment of his underlings.
"I suspect one - if not all of us here - is a moron."
The laughing had also drawn in curious onlookers, some of whom had voted for the two men's death. They too were disconcerted.
"The devil's come taken their minds!" asserted a woman who'd declared herself pious. "Read about it in the holy scriptures," she added to give weight to her argument. "It's good to be killing these two. No one can live with possessed minds like these."
A nearby banker also felt justified. "That Jesus is a most unserious fellow. He has no respect for commerce. Silly sot spoke of love as he should of money."
A coward sneered, "He said he wanted to help people. What good can he do dead? Easy to talk high and mighty when you don't plan on sticking around, the short-sighted fool."
No one who heard the laughter was able to remain silent, anymore than a person thrown into a roaring fire could. The sound pierced and piqued the soul into uncontrollable agony, forcing expressions of self-reflection - that which they most desperately sought to keep secret, even to the point of murder.
As the commenters had feared - but not dare utter - the two crucified men were laughing at their self-serving foolishness. The crucifiers acted as flat-earthers who believed killing every person who says the world is round will somehow make it flat. The hopelessness at the core of their behavior - that getting as many people as possible to agree with them would save them - made their every act meaningless and moot. In a word, they were morons - morons to be pitied and whose absurd claims bring laughter from the truly knowing.
Then Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."
Make crime legal then it becomes OK in the eyes of God!
The war on the poor is the one war with universal support. "You see, if we don't throw families into the street we'll have chaos and death and destruction!" If you ever want to hear someone say something stupid, ask them to tell you why the concept of money is needed. Money is not love, therefore it's not necessary - but that won't stop stupid from speaking! And so we have the situation we see here where crimes happen in broad daylight and no one blinks an eye. Everyone claims to be helpless in the situation - just like when we nailed Jesus to the cross. We pretend it has to be done.
The enforcer has a piece of paper saying the tenants must pay or go. The bank has a piece of paper saying the landlord must pay or go. The stockholders say the bank must make money or go. On and on it goes in an endless game of blackmail as our possessed minds claim "there is no other way!" God help anyone who doesn't believe blood is on their hands. But know this: just as the war criminals rape, kill, and destroy without recourse, so shall the same be done to them (and twice over). It's only a matter of when. Remember this when your turn for eviction comes: by our own hands we are destroyed.
I lie, therefore I am.
I buy, therefore I am.
I cry, therefore I am.
I fry, therefore I am.
I'm sly, therefore I am.
I'm dry, therefore I am.
I'm wry, therefore I am.
I'm high, therefore I am.
I spy, therefore I am.
I sigh, therefore I am.
I pry, therefore I am.
I die, therefore I am.
"But he's an animal, a soulless beast! Not capable of reason or rational thought. He can do nothing more than wreak chaos and havoc and mindlessly repeat phrases suckers want to hear. How can you not see that? This is insanity of the highest order! It's got to stop. It's got to stop NOW! How in God's name can you be following an orangutang??"
The reply was both breathless and resolute: "Because he's the President."
---------------------
It was said when the phenomenon first started that life had turned into a B-grade movie script no one would buy or believe with its outrageous premise and ever curiouser behavior. Sure, the world is screwed up - but it can't be that screwed up. There has to be limits to absurdity even in works of fiction. But come to find out, in real life there are no limits when entering a bottomless pit.
The Moronican party had been around forever, posing as a legitimate institution with alleged ideals and noble-sounding aims. Some were genuinely conned into believing their fairy tale but the overwhelming majority simply sought to rule the lives of others at any cost. To reach this goal they had had to hide behind a fig leaf of morality as the rationale for their pursuit of power. They waged unholy "holy wars" in the name of a God aggrieved by war. Then the idea of an ape leader came along.
The idea had been kicked around for years, never taken seriously but never quite going away either. "How cool would it be to get the masses to worship a monkey we control?" To set a monkey on the throne remained a secret fantasy until lo and behold just the right ape came along. This ape had been spoiled all its life - it didn't even realize it was an ape! Of course, on some level it knew and this caused an endless resentment against actual humans building a lifetime of resentment and perceived victimhood.
The lie of believing it was human had infested the ape, and never could it get enough of this lie, never could it hear it enough times to satisfy its craving, for it knew it could never be a real human. Yet, more than anything, the ape made its life purpose to be thought of as human. It could see the rainbow of this ultimate dream but never reach it. And like any good terrorist, it thought, "Somebody has to pay for my shortcomings, just like we did to that Jesus fucker!"
Its simple monkey brain could only hold one concept at a time: Be called 'human' good, be called 'ape' bad. It reduced all behavior down to that one golden rule. No nuance or grey area existed in its head. Every impulse centered on this singular conviction without restraint or regard. The ape ceaselessly tugged at the skirt of every human it saw begging to belong, wearing them down with pathetic pleas. But no matter how much acceptance the ape received, it always needed more.
The Moronicans had gotten to the point that the burden of their feigned morality had pushed them into unbearable submission. They faced a crossroad of either coming clean as to their treachery or doubling down on their naked lust. The ape-who-would-be-king fantasy was brought back to life in this moment of crisis. "If we can get away with this, we can get away with anything! Daylight robbery, kidnapping and rape, wholesale arson - why we could even kill someone in the middle of the street and get away with it! Just imagine the power!"
No one took the ape seriously when its bid was announced for the Presidency. "Good God, it's a freaking ape without a brain or a conscience!" said Senator Graham Cracker, future servant to the ape. "Our entire party deserves to vanish if we nominate a foul beast like that." But before anyone knew, a groundswell of support rose up in support of the ape. "Hey, him just like me!" guffawed Barney at the Beer Barn.
Who knew he meant this literally??
Even the most rotted of souls could feel superior to the ape, thus giving them a sense of self-worth they'd never known before. Other malcontents and miscreants also banded together in support of the ape as they too had shut themselves out from the halls of competence. Machiavellian misanthropes joined in seeing great potential in using the ape's appeal to push through their agenda of looting the world. The hopeless cried out, "Why not an ape?" as human leadership had failed them up to that point. Combined, they were known as the Orangutang Gang.
Both supporters and detractors knew the ape would never be held responsible for its behavior with it not being, you know, an actual human. The idea of never being held responsible for one's life has always been an appealing idea and in a surprise victory, the ape was able to eek out a win! The Orangutang Gang rejoiced in at last having their time in the sun, gaining recognition after having to hide in the shadows the entirety of their lives. And they especially delighted in seeing the angst and heartbreak of the sanity-minded who lamented the ensuing destruction. "Now the fuckers know how we felt!"
The orangutang was bought fine suits to wear and given fancy words to point to as if it could mean them, and great promises were made (with great giggling) that it would "grow into the role of being President." Many claimed it was their patriotic duty to serve the ape and be a "guardrail" against its more extreme impulses incapable of knowing right from wrong. The Gang crowed how the ape would make the country great even though it had no concept of government or country - just itself. But, of course, in the end it was just an ape - and could act nothing but as an ape - and no good fruit could come to bear.
Be smart. Be like the successful ape.
Cabals who preached death and consortia of black-hearted pirates formed in the ape's orbit, talking it into gross betrayals of "those damn humans and their impractical human needs." When a huge ocean liner flipped over, they had the ape show up to throw rolls of paper towels to the drowning survivors and laugh as they were forced to drink salt water attempting to stay alive. When no outcry was made of this monstrous and inhuman piece of savagery the Orangutang Gang felt their time had truly arrived.
Conniving criminals found that praising the ape as human would get them granted privileges and favors however unwarranted or egregious. This wildly pleased foreign leaders who realized they too could manipulate the ape with simple-minded words, tricking it into committing treason and giving away the country's treasures. Over time, the last of the competent gatekeepers were driven out leaving only the cruel and the corrupt to give orders, redefining incompetence as competence and vice versa.
But it seemed the more the ape got its way, the more angry it got. It resented having to serve humans he felt were superior to it, vowing "no one would be spared" its wrath. The Orangutang Gang were delighted at the idea of dying for their leader which was made only better that they could take the ape-haters down with them. They loved seeing the look of horror and screams of terror they could invoke with their suicide-for-all pact. "Nazi camp guards got nothing on us!"
Left unchecked, the Orangutang Gang is free to seek to consume the world leaving no living creature or inhabitable space. So possessed are these maniacs, they sacrifice their lives, their children's lives and, most of all, hope of any kind. "If you do not steal hope like us we'll steal your life!" they decry in enraged blackmail. In the new paradigm, the peacemakers are labeled "anarchists", the honest declared "traitors", and the caring denounced as "fascists".
Yet, try as they might, however ruthless or murderous their tactics, there never was nor ever can be anything to be gained from the Orangutang Gang. The answer for truly moving forward remains the same, no matter how disregarded, ill-favored, or unspoken that answer may be.
I passed by in my ride a closed, old-fashioned movie theater near downtown. It had one of those tall marquees jutting out front with two sides at the bottom. On one side the letters were arranged to say: NOW PLAYING on the top line and below: CRAZY RCH WHIT PEEPLE. Seems they didn't have enough of the right letters.
Below the sign was a motley crew in the dying rays of late afternoon sun. A skinny, hospital-white guy was cradled in a grocery cart stuffed on the sides with pieces from a torn comforter, making himself a quasi-recliner of sorts, his place of luxury.
A large black woman sat splayed on the sidewalk with her back leaning against what would have been the bottom of the ticket booth. She had a genuine smile for everyone that passed. I thought she was either helplessly simple-minded or had the most hateless heart on the planet.
Two older black men in clothes unacquainted with washing stood arguing nose to nose in heavy sentiment. I couldn't catch their words, only their vehement gestures of life and death. Could be they just needed to argue.
A younger black guy in fading athletic build sat on the curb, feet defeated in the street, his head between his knees waiting to die. Don't think he'd read any grifters' editorials in the Wall Street Journal claiming the American dream is still alive.
A middle-aged Hispanic woman leaned dead-eyed against the building on the opposite side of the ticket booth, the sun slicing her body in two. For some reason her black clothing made me think of her as a 19th century noblewoman. She had that thousand yard stare from waging combat too long, death whispering in her ear, making her pay for the sin of another breath.
The whole scene was a sprawling mess in broad daylight for everyone to see. Triggered by guilt, I saw a woman of sunglasses, sex, and finery extort from her rolled down BMW window, "God is good!", then she was gone with the wind from her twilight time. Her plate read "KAITWIN". I think by "God" she meant herself.
I hid from that group as I passed. I didn't want them to know I was actually one of them and shirking my duties. I parked down the street to spy from my review mirror. I had to roll down the windows for air, then I felt the heat of the day rushing in they endured, a tax levied without recourse or relief.
After a while a small Indian man in a suit confronted the crew, chastising them in strict anger. Apparently they didn't meet his code of conduct. He pointed to the re-arranging of the letters in the marquee. Only the two arguing black men responded to him. I think they were happy for fresh meat in their feud.
The Indian was a businessman, most likely the property owner. He didn't want trash on his property. The respectability his American wealth had given him was as valuable as his cash. The marquee sarcasm had gotten under his skin. I found it ironic to see him going ballistic as I remembered the original name of the movie, "Crazy Rich Asians."
Finally he left in a huff, superiority intact. I was grateful his rampage didn't go any further but I feared there'd be a sequel for this movie with more dire consequences, starring the angry upright local business leader.
A young professional female in perfectly attuned casual attire walked her perfectly groomed labradoodle, stopping outside my open window, paying me no mind. Both had exited from a nearby office tower recently reconstructed to be high-rise condos. She listened to a podcast from a life coach guru saying one needs to be more proactive than reactive in one's workday and to eliminate early morning phone calls in order to set a positive energy flow for the day.
I wondered if she drove a car plated "KAITWIN".
The streets call out my name just as those sentenced to die are called out one by one by the executioner, fate already decided by the judgment of madmen. Like twisted children deformed in an unknowing mind, a sick play is conducted before our eyes written by the worst of us for the rest to perform, using a soundtrack from a time gone by.
Crawling scratching creatures wrestle to survive in crumbs of fading life, absorbing energy into an inert sponge of wasted rot, wallowing in the litter of discarded dreams, a planet spinning out of orbit in furious wail. Hell's mouth opens, and like grains from a salt shaker lives fall into it swallowed whole with fools on top insisting the shaking must continue at all costs.
Hell is the soldier's home. Victory worst of both worlds:
the lie of war lives to kill another day.
The doom of peace sees no ally in Pyrrhic parades.
In fighting fatigues, fools finds foxhole favor.
Protecting plastic paradise, a mirage beyond the horizon.
God's will be dumb.
Military fright turns love cold as stone.
Glory dies lonely in the dead of night.
Freedom's dream strangled in chains of command.
Jeers disguised as cheers when the bullet strikes the bone.
The warrior's true struggle: to keep his life undiscovered.
Never a tomorrow, only today...
The end game remains insane. Home is the soldier's hell.
Little Johnny had become listless and depressed. His father was treating him like shit. But Johnny's condition became so acute it could not be hidden any longer.
His abusive father was forced into action. The doctor told him he'd have to stop abusing Johnny and get therapy for both himself and the boy if things were to change. Johnny's father didn't like that. He sought a second opinion more suited to his liking.
A marketer posing as a doctor told him everything he wanted to hear. Johnny's father need not change. No painful therapy required. Just a little pick-me-up would do the trick. For this the marketer was handsomely rewarded on earth.
Johnny gobbled down the sugar he was given as it was the only thing he'd found that made him feel good. But he'd crash and burn when the sugar high wore off. Still, he figured, it was better than no highs at all.
Johnny met a girl. She made him feel better than even the sugar. But she told him he had to choose between her or the sugar because she said the sugar would kill him. Johnny's father said if the boy stopped taking his sugar he'd be thrown out of the house. Johnny broke off with the girl sent to save him, saying that love "isn't practical." Thus, he assassinated the relationship.
Over time the highs got higher and the lows got lower as Johnny had to keep increasing the dosage to get the same high. Secretly, Johnny went to a doctor to find out his condition as doubt had crept in. He was told the sugar was acting as a poison in his body. "But it wasn't before!" "It is now."
Fear eroded Johnny's mind, concocting conspiracy theories of people out to destroy him. In a desperate campaign he sang in praise of sugar and the wonderful joy it brings. He carefully avoiding saying it turns to poison, and anyone who disagreed was labeled "lying traitorous scum out to destroy the world." Millions joined the campaign in high delusion, swearing the good times would never end.
So the rule of sugar ascended to absolute power, even as the effects of the poison destroyed cell after cell. The sugar babies jailed, tortured, and killed anyone who pointed out sugar's deadly effects in a futile but relentless bid to suppress truth. Some fools wanted to "regulate" the sugar in false hope of finding a "responsible" way to keep ingesting it. In the end, reality - in all forms - was declared comfortably illegal.
The longer the sugar is ingested, the more irreversible damage is done, the more pain is required to exorcise its venom, ever deepening the hole of the sugar babies' reality, pushing hope farther away, teetering on destruction. And now you know the state of the world economic health in the year of our Lord 2020.
Trapped in an air pocket in the uppermost region of the capsized ship SS Covid, a tapping sound is heard on the hull. Voices below rejoice.
"Hello? Is someone up there? Save us, please! Air is running out!"
"Yes, we are from the City. We have acetylene torches ready to cut through the metal."
"Thank God! Please hurry."
"We can't start yet. There's a debate on just how sustainable getting you out would be."
"Sustainable? What the fuck? Just get us out first and figure the rest out later."
"Sorry, but we must think of the long-term socioeconomic implications of your freedom. This could be perceived as a socialist act violating our ideological ideal of every man for himself. Bailing you out could set a bad precedent and ruin our way of life."
"Is this some sort of sick joke? We were on this ship bringing food to the City. And this is how you repay us?"
"You must understand there's only so much acetylene to go around. We already used much of it on getting out those who bribed us with jewels and precious metals. Then they needed further cutting done to get out their fast cars and fine clothing."
"Cars and clothing! Is that what you value over human life?"
"Why, yes, frankly. Doesn't everyone? Living well is the best revenge, haha!"
"Fuck your living well, you monsters!"
"See? It's that sort of class warfare attitude that makes helping you so politically difficult. But I can tell you there is some very good news for you as it's been decided to cut air holes in the hull which will greatly delay your death! Kudos for us!"
"What's the point of delaying our death just to let us die later??"
"Because I'll be out of office by then so the next person will get the blame, not me. Clever, eh?"
"The time to help is NOW, motherfucker!"
"Don't interrupt our party with your poverty!"
"This selfish attitude of yours is reprehensible and lessens your chances. And if you can't refrain from foul language you'll leave us no choice but to leave you down there. We have our morals to consider and on that we shall not budge an inch!"
"What the hell is moral about murdering us!"
"Murder? I see no murder going on here! In fact, on the next section over we're having a party congratulating our gracious efforts to date."
"There's no reasoning with you! You're out of control! I can't believe my ears! You party while we drown!"
"You'd have us wallow in misery? It's becoming obvious there's no living with your type."
"There's literally no living with you!"
"Whatever, there's nothing we can do to help you. It's been determined by people who know that we are doing what God wants, that God has used this capsize to judge you unworthy of life, therefore your death is of no consequence. Yay, us! Yay, God!"
"God does not know you! You take the Lord's name in vain."
"If I've said even the slightest of lies, let God strike me down! But see? Nothing happens! We are the Twilight gods, both foul and futureless, eating our poisoned cake yet living still, as God's chosen winners. But - if you really believe God is on your side - don't forget to pray!"
Alas, instead of learning to live together after the capsize, treachery ruled the day, thus setting the stage for the sinking of the ship for everyone both above and below the hull. But none of it had to be.
I had to see for myself, with my own eyes, no media filter intentional or unintentional. The curiosity has been driving me mad. And no wonder I cannot sleep at night. No wonder there's so much unborn rage writhing in me. No wonder my seething teeth ache in furious fretting. No wonder...
I can tell no one of what I saw. If we find out we're doomed already - and that suspicion grows every day despite the best efforts of protests and propaganda - the instantaneous backlash would be fatal to the messenger. He'd be crucified by the same outrage as deserved by the crucifiers to receive. And if this crime gains them one more second of delay from the hour of judgement they will commit said crime without hesitation of compunction.
Somewhere, somehow, something inside knows what we've done.
News from the Front is the worst imaginable - and that's no exaggeration. In fact, I don't think it's humanly possible to describe the carnage coming our way, inching closer in an inevitable march to touch and destroy each and every life. I've seen this with my own now-branded eyes, leaving me shattered and shaking, of the hearts we are breaking, of the souls we are taking, of the truths we are faking, of the terror we are making...
Prophets of doom are relegated to the wilderness, their voices a distant cry from impolite society. Since my return people ask what is wrong with me - they can see my consciousness has changed and they've begun viewing me with suspicion, that perhaps I know all is not well in their lives and I will cause revelation. But revelation is coming regardless, with or without me, just as the sun rises in the morn with or without me.
I've witnessed atrocities no eye should be summoned see. Just to fake it through the day I must remain speechless and vilely cheerful as an abused child. Only in the most private of moments do I redeem myself. In those sly moments I know...I know all that we do now on this path is in vain.
How do I say what I saw to a proud new mother holding her newborn baby? How can I fully describe the seeds we have sown when I myself am too afraid to face them? I've noticed that when I speak truly, they only look at me not the words I say. My clothing is my fate. If I speak of the coming doom when well dressed I am lynched in unleashed lust. If I speak in vagabond tatters I'm ignored and unheard. I must sleep with the homeless and the outcast to stay alive with a speaking mind - as did Baptist John of old.
My life is a posed pantomime. I've no cares about making plans or daring dreams. Too much of the future is written. Maybe there are some who are strong enough to survive the soul-crushing tsunami on its way but I feared love more than losing. Watch me be thrilled with the bribed success lauded by the masses! I'll boldly lie of mountains to climb and of drinking from the fountain of forever! That is what's expected by the pack wolves who rule in savage infamy.
Where is safety? When I close my eyes the fires from the Front consume me, raging me aware. I wake up suicide screaming still hearing the civilian generals' insane calls for more murder and more mayhem, never enough to feed the frustration of aborted family. Through the dark, fast-moving haze I witnessed soldiers staggering forward, defeated with arms outstretched, begging for the war to stop, only to be killed in grinning glee as those without hope take life from those who breathe in the most stupid of acts.
The scale of it - were it described accurately - is horror few can believe. We must unite, not fight, if we are to survive. Oh, the putrid proposals I have heard spill from the beast's mouth only to be repeated by mindless masses who wreak craven salvation by the gods of falseness. But the Wind that drives the fires toward us cannot be stopped by clever words or counseled deceit. For the Wind is God. This is why under no circumstance can we brook flames under the heavens.
The joy of the ignorant is all that remains. I smile in failure with the surrounding souls when I hear it praised but my sorrow is restless like a rising volcano. I want to come clean and declare the madness before me! War rewards the monsters among us. I wish only to slip quietly in the night out of this world, never to be seen or heard again. The truth can die with me. From the far reaches of the universe I wait for the willfully unknown, painted by my hopes and fears. But no one even knows I'm here.
In the simmering silence, a message breaks through: "Uncle Harry take me to the water park plz! Hurry lets have fun b4 its to late! Time is running out!"
Jesus left the temple and was walking away when his disciples came up to him to call his attention to its buildings.“Do you see all these things?” he asked. “Truly I tell you, not one stone here will be left on another; every one will be thrown down.”
As Jesus was sitting on the Mount of Olives, the disciples came to him privately. “Tell us,” they said, “when will this happen, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?”
Jesus answered:
“Watch out that no one deceives you. For many will come in my name, claiming, ‘I am the Messiah,’ and will deceive many. You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places. All these are the beginning of birth pains.
“Then you will be handed over to be persecuted and put to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of me. At that time many will turn away from the faith and will betray and hate each other, and many false prophets will appear and deceive many people. Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved. And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come.
“So when you see standing in the holy place ‘the abomination that causes desolation,’ spoken of through the prophet Daniel—let the reader understand— then let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains. Let no one on the housetop go down to take anything out of the house. Let no one in the field go back to get their cloak. How dreadful it will be in those days for pregnant women and nursing mothers! Pray that your flight will not take place in winter or on the Sabbath. For then there will be great distress, unequaled from the beginning of the world until now—and never to be equaled again."
[From the archives of the late French assassin Goupil. Writings of his life and deeds he left behind, currently still classified by the FBI.]
I was forced to decision."Ask me five times first."
This phrase, it just come out. I not want to say yes. I not want to say no. She asking me to take big step forward, a commitment for life. She desperate lonely and I want to be hero. And now, as I write here, I must confess what can't be confessed.
It true all my life been horrible bad until I meet Simone. Is true world is bad place no matter what constant commercials say. And it true much the wrought pain is unjust and unneeded. But I didn't have to go bad. I need believe better of myself.
When I start my career killing real reason is because I murderer already. These writings I keep in English because French make it too real. In other language it make it seem I maybe write about someone else.
Simone was glitter in my eyes. God make her perfect to me. I could not think around her and not stop thinking of her when not around. She under my skin and my body heaving convulsions.
If only she not married.
But she want out. That why she look so lonely on cafe sidewalk, this woman I'd always dreamed of. She was sent to save me, I see now. Maybe that why I feel I should save her.
"Will you do this?"
I was forced to decision."Ask me five times first."
Simone be little older but much farther down road of life than vagabond me. Even so, her marriage did not take her where she want to be. She trapped inside. I would set her free to be with me, Goupil. But my aberrant wasted life before that show her I am fool boy, I fear. I never feel mature around her. Her closeness make me sweat.
"Someone must help me, but who? My husband will end my life."
"I know. It is obvious."
"Will you do this?"
I was forced to decision. "Ask me five times first."
We meet in shadow bamboo. Those times fantasy to my boy eyes, restitution for wounds of childhood. This seem so right it can not be wrong. Life give justice at last! This be turning point, I think to myself. In that I was right. I become most foul person ever, traitor and thief. When career of killing come along I am grateful there is use for someone like me. But I will die this same wretched creature. I wanted...I so, so wanted it to be true...
"He's not who I thought he was. This man is criminal. If the courts ever get to him, he'd be sentenced to jail - or worse."
"This is terrible! You must escape. Is other way than what you ask?"
"Someone must help me, but who? My husband will end my life."
"I know. It is obvious."
"Will you do this?"
I was forced to decision. "Ask me five times first."
To live at last! That is what I think and hope. My denied dreams manifest in shadow bamboo then I live in light ever after. With Simone I am pulled from dark hole and I take what is mine, that was on my mind. The curves of her body infect me with heat. I must repay for this gift one can never repay! I will sacrifice everything for her, she worth my life ten times over. When we have fatal conversation, I must make choice.
"You must kill him. Take him away forever, or I can never be safe."
"Are you sure? Very sure? This be only way?"
"He's not who I thought he was. This man is criminal. If the courts ever get to him, he'd be sentenced to jail - or worse."
"This is terrible! You must escape. Is other way than what you ask?"
"Someone must help me, but who? My husband will end my life."
"I know. It is obvious."
"Will you do this?"
I was forced to decision. "Ask me five times first."
******
I need be sure. I need be something. I need be somebody. How miserable creature God make us with all our needs!
Second time Simone say how approving she be of someone who save her. She fool to marry this man and to ask someone to get her out of own mess she make, who can not revere act like that? I can prove so much to her.
Third time she say she worry she not worth saving. This angel! Not worth saving? Never! I tell her nothing farther from truth. She most valuable person in world. Was like in movies.
Fourth time she bring her tears. I feel great fear. I feel maybe I be same like cruel husband if I not save her. Maybe even coward not deserving woman. This fear nearly put me over edge. But I need hear five times. Something still missing.
Fifth time I tell her not to speak. It come to me what bother me. I say to her that final ask be this: give me your wedding ring. With that I can know, I tell myself. This she does and I wear ring on gold chain around neck to this day, never take off. I keep her close to my heart that way. Sometimes I wonder what happen if I break that chain. Then I remember it's all I have - all I ever have.
******
I decide to be direct. I am moral hero so why not? I go to her townhouse to talk to this bad man, secret gun in pocket. I leave no room for doubt. Every step from train to house I remember. Muggy evening, happy singers in distance strange soundtrack to a kill, I think at time. Window lights warm and inviting. Every instinct say not do this! The cruel world turn friendly at just wrong time. I must plow ahead and not pay attention to this trick.
"Monsieur Auberjonois?"
His face was not what I expect when he answer door. I not see meanness Simone describe. More tricks of the world! But we sit and talk and yes, I like the man. I can not see me killing him. I start think no wonder Simone like bum like me, a nobody with no future. No real man would be sitting here like this, talking to good man she plan me to kill. My world come crashing down. I have everything wrong! My stomach feel sick. My head spin. I have to leave I tell him - and if God take my life on way home I not complain!
Halfway to train I see her heading my way to her townhouse. Simone is all smiles.
She thinks I did her deed! She laughing at me! Mocking fool boy! Never day will pass I don't hear her laugh in my ears rest of life. Who can ever take? Any good always too good to be true!
"I see your husband," I tell her.
"But how - "
"Do not ask how! Do not ask anything of me! I am idiot for ages. All heaven mocking me. You really think this can happen?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course! I am too stupid to see, you think! I not live with this. I ready to kill so kill I will!"
Running into night like sad dream, drowning in darkness, streetlights like spotlights, faces like judges, sounds of tormented beasts echoing in ears, falling, falling, falling. Never again dare I to believe in me. If I just stay true to my rotten truth I never fall for her and hope that can never be. Most time of that night lost to me. Just feelings I remember. Never a soul so lost.
When dawn come and light arise I ask myself why world bother with new day. What can it possible bring? There's no point to anything, life gone till end of time. End charade already. I spend morning in bottomless sorrow hiding inside abandoned industrial building. Small voice tell me go out anyway to see what I can see. I curse that voice a fool but do anyway because total black hopelessness killing me.
Was not husband I meet. Was husband's brother. I shoot Simone for nothing. Later, true enough, real husband sentenced 36 years in French prison for sex crime ring. Pain of this never far. What is proper retribution on me? If only I keep faith in her. That she could like me was miracle of miracles and had it been so my life change forever better. Instead, it forever worse. I am Greek tragedy. Crucify me in worst way. I do not know how to bring Simone back. I wish I never born. Beware the flint in my eye.
[They called themselves God-Lovers and their leader was hailed God-King. At first, it was assumed to be just another snake cult. But like a tidal wave rising from the ocean without warning, they came crashing ashore in the worst of ways, surprising the naively unsuspecting and the willfully oblivious while welcomed by cheering nihilists who wished to see the world burn down. Woe be to any who stand in the way of the wave.]
In the beginning was the deceiver, and the deceiver was with lies, and the lies were evil. The deceiver's trick was simple: arson for reward. By torching several houses in the community at once he was able to rob banks unnoticed during the pandemonium. Citizens were forced to make a choice between saving their humanity or their bank accounts. The deceiver had no use for humanity as he swindled even himself. Soon, his coffers were full as his soul emptied out.
The deceiver reveled in his hypocrisy, decrying firefighters for not doing enough to put out the fires he started, posing as a moral crusader for the everyman. An unholy cabal of the criminal, the corrupt, and the nihilists marveled at the deceiver's larcenous ways, joining his false crusade hoping to partake in his looting in the name of God. This was the beginning of the God-King.
Claiming God was on their side - and thus any who was not on their side were on the side of the devil - the appeal of shameless lying and riches swelled the numbers of the God-Lovers like a fast spreading wildfire. "We're here doing God's work!" railed the deceiver. "Let no one stand in our way until we control all!" Soon, no home was safe from the arsonists who were left unopposed as communities cowered in fear, homeowners staying home to protect their dwellings, refusing to go out and fight.
Those who did leave their house to fight were deeply resented by those who did not. "You can't stop them! There's no point!" Some even defended the arsonists hoping that would make them safe. "These protests are deeply offensive! The arsonists are God-Lovers, carrying the Bible with their flaming torches." So insane did fear of the cult become that in a fit of mindless hysteria, the God-King was made leader of the land.
"Yippee! Now I get to loot the national treasury, starving widows and orphans, repeal laws that hinder my criminal friends, and spread the gospel of holy corruption!"
As the nation teetered on the brink of destruction - as the smell of burning homes with screaming families inside became so commonplace as to not even make the news - the God-King gloried in unhinged ecstasy.
"I have a plan for the fires that consume us! Only your God-King could come up with such a great plan or entertain with such a great act you would believe me. I propose we destroy each and every dam, releasing water that has been unjustly kept back from serving us, the victimized people! We shall be victims of these cruel dams no more!"
The deceiver cackled to himself watching heated debates of his calculated insanity defended by fools and smirking con men as those who fought to preserve life were doused in verbal gasoline and set aflame. By constantly creating new and ever greater disasters, the deceiver knew he could thin the efforts of the Preservers, overwhelming and exhausting them to the point of no return, the utmost goal of him and his rabid supporters.
If anyone outside of the God-Lovers cult was found torching a home, however, that perpetrator would be immediately captured, harshly denounced, and sentenced to death. In this way, the immoral majority hoped to appear moral and stand for the long lost rule of law. "I can't imagine a more heinous act than burning down a home with the family inside. We will not tolerate this under any circumstances!" Unless, of course, the God-Lovers were committing the very same crime en masse - in that case the cowards declared it "God's work."
But Nature has Her own agenda outside the will of Man (Thank God!), and suddenly news came down that God was dead. Though acceptance of that fact was slow at first, its undeniability gained steam just like the cult had in its early days: irrefutable, unstoppable - and irreversible. The lies of the God-King were seen to be more and more hollow, helpless in the face of Nature's even more stubborn truth. "If God is dead then who does the God-King really serve?" The ensuing silence to that question echoed louder each passing day.
Sick of living in fear, even the self-loathing masses began to wake up to a dawning reality: that the protesting Preservers were their true allies and the so-called God-Lovers their betrayers. The tide turned and the cult's numbers dwindled until only a hardcore few were left who were then hunted down and imprisoned to at last bring safety to the nation. Only the God-King remained to be captured until he too was finally cornered.
"You sick, perverted, murderer, tell us who you really are and who you really serve!"
"Never! My soul to keep! I would rather die!"
"So be it, then!"
But seeing his final bluff fail, the God-King relented it not repented. "Wait! Wait! I'll tell you my name."
"Tell us quick before we get a rope."
"OK, OK." The deceiver tried one final trick. "I'll tell you because I love the truth so much!"
"Well," taunted a now undeceived crowd. "We're waiting."
"Fine! Then by your own mirror be judged! Thy name is...Judas."
