It is rational to suspect that a loveless life leaves holes across the sphere of human existence, holes which only delusions of grandeur can ever possibly fill. To survive the monotony of life, the subject has to elevate other non-essential components of life such as work, and ideals to a plain high enough that enables them to convince themselves that their calling is what defines them, and not the genetic imperative. In essence it requires a person to be able to shape reality in their own image. Peculiarly, history has proven that human beings tend to be rather good at that.
The living room was dark and wooden and smelled of old. It could not have been due to the cologne of a grandparent, yet it hung in the air like time immortal. The Great Leader sat hunched in an old grey dressing gown. It was the kind of grey that blended seamlessly into the background of a throng of rush hour commuters. It was a cloak of invisibility, a colour so boring that few people could ever recall seeing it. She sat with the remote control on one arm of the chair, and a tiny glass of port in the other.
The glow from the television illuminated the Great Leader's face, giving her both the look and the pallor of a troll. Suffice to see, nature had not been kind. She was a short, chubby woman; her face had an unnatural roundness, more suited to toad than human. It was part of the reason why she chose to hide in the shadows. Years before she had attempted a political career in the limelight until her sister was ruthlessly murdered by a weather system sent by a neighbouring country to destroy their government. Nowadays she felt safest in the dark; free from the eyes of her enemies, where she could play the role deemed to her by God himself, that of the master puppeteer.
On the television a scene was playing out of a clan in a fantastical mythical age. It was apparent that summer was coming, and that was the emotional fuse that forced a half-naked gibberish babbling warrior to force himself upon a pale, blonde waif.
"Disgusting," muttered the Great Leader as she absolutely made no move whatsoever to change the channel. As limbs were entwined, and garments removed, the Great Leader did not stir, she did not even take her eyes from the screen for one second. A bell rang out from a clock in the hallway to announce the hour; the Great Leader smiled and took a sip from her port. As her lips were flooded with the embrace of the grape, her mind was flushed with guilt. She felt her cheeks redden and she spoke aloud, "just one mother, just one."
Silent nights carry a menace seldom acknowledged, solitude. No man or woman is an island, because only islands are islands and it is rather pretentious of humans to think otherwise. Time spent alone is time wasted, and the human race is nothing but inventive in their bid for companionship. Regrettably it is apparently difficult for many humans to separate their two Is, the physical and mental I. This difficulty created the pathway for the invention of prostitution, paedophilia, bestiality, inflatable dolls, and all manner of sex aids designed for the same simple reason; to offer the human psyche an alternative to being alone. Astonishingly, to absolute nobody, almost all of the fore mentioned inventions and discoveries have a single thing in common. They are all vastly more popular with men. Yet there is one aid, one item, one organism, designed singularly with women in mind, to fill this chasm, caused by loneliness.
The Great Leader hung her dressing gown on a hook on her bedroom door and stepped out of her slippers. She knelt beside her bed and locked her hands in prayer. It is called prayer because it is somewhat more mystical sounding than whispering to oneself.
"Dear Lord, I pray that all fornicators may be given the grace of purity, a chaste life, and in case of fornication, of not using contraceptives, and, in case of pregnancy, of giving birth to the child, and, in case of not wanting the child, of finding good adoptive parents for the child. Amen," the Great Leader whispered. A cat quickly entered the room and leapt onto her bed. "Hello Lord, who's a good boy?"
YOU ARE READING
"Every single day an estimated eighteen million men gratuitously waste the future of our country, by needlessly ejaculating one hundred million citizens of our country, which had they been born, would have made us the strongest country on the planet...