I can't pretend anymore. I'm not even sure what I believe. There I said it.
When I was working for AT&T many years ago, we went through meetings where we were "encouraged" to say good things about AT&T's service in our off hours. We couldn't talk smack about the company to family and friends
That's the problem with the modern church. We can't show our real selves. To show doubt, despair, weakness, well that just isn't done. At one time I had wanted to be a minister, but now I'm glad I didn't go that route. I couldn't pretend to always "be on fire for God."
A lot of the problem is my own making. I don't know how to relate to people. Making friends is almost impossible. Deeper relationships... forget it. I always seem to say or do the wrong thing that turns people off. People make me nervous. Even writing this on a public forum fills me with some apprehension.
I guess I still believe that God exists... the universe just seems too orderly to be just random. And there have been events in my life that seem a lot like divine providence. But I go to church and I sit alone either bored, or filled with guilt. I don't know what to do to change it. And I can't accept the fact that a lot of people are going to hell just for backing the wrong team.
I really really wish I could go back to the blind faith I used to have. I was a lot happier. I just don't know what drug to take.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
With a single click, she locked the handcuffs onto his wrist. Her coat fell open, revealing the five pounds of plastic explosive strapped to her. The digital timer relentlessly marched down. Less than fifteen minutes to go.
"You're going to die, Nick. Even if you mind zonk me, I don't have a key to these handcuffs. When this reaches zero, either you learn to teleport yourself or..." She shrugged. "What's left of both of us, wouldn't fill an envelope."
His face reddened. "You little bitch. You have no idea what you're doing. I am the Supreme Potentate of the World. "I'll..."
She rolled her eyes. "Blah blah blah. 'Bow down. Kneel Before Zodd'. Buddha on a bicycle, Nicky, you are Such a friggin' bore. Guess that comes from picking Lex Luthor as your role model." She glanced down as the timer clicked off another minute. "Oops. Better say your prayers, Nicky dear." She giggled. "To coin a phrase."
He stared at her, a single bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. She continued to smile sweetly at him as the clock ticked down.
In desperation, he clawed around in his desk. "I'll cut your damn hand off. Maybe I'll make you do it yourself.. You can't do this to ME! I'm the Pot...."
OH WILL YOU SHUT UP ALREADY?!
The voice boomed through both of their heads. Carpathia put both hands on the side of his head and dropped to his knees. "Master... I merely wanted..."
YOU EITHER STOP TALKING RIGHT NOW, OR I PULL OUT YOUR TONGUE. Carpathia closed his mouth with an almost audible snap.
The air in the center of the room seemed to shimmer and darken. A shapeless mass formed in that spot, that looked vaguely human. It turned towards Chloe.
"This has gone on long enough, Nick." The voice was deep, comforting and seductive, but there was a hint of "I am not to be fucked with" underneath it.
"Thousands of years of waiting, planning and I get stuck with you. Potentate? Is that really the awe inspiring title you've chosen? And what the hell is this you're building out in the middle of nowhere. I spent centuries designing New York to be the center of power and depravity and you toss all that out."
Two tendrils of black smoke issued forth from the figure and caressed her arm lightly. "Chloe... on the other hand came to within an inch of killing you. This is someone who I want on my side."
The voice spoke inside her head. "How about it, Chloe? Want a job?"
She only had to consider it a minute. "If God won't help me, then to hell with Him. I'll do it myself."
"You won't regret it." The handcuffs clicked and slid off her wrists. Then the timer flickered and went out. She rubbed her wrists and smiled as she clicked off the timer.
Nicky gaped at her. "You... you... could...."
"Turn it off? Of course. A bit risky, but I figured that you've been surrounding yourself with sycophants for so long, that it wouldn't occur to you that someone would just lie right to your face." She cocked her head as if listening to a voice only she could hear. "
"At once, my Lord." She reached down her leg and pullled out a hunting knife strapped to her calf. She held it in front of her, and smiled wolfishly."
"First order of business. Taking out the trash."
She was dressed in a smart, tailored suit. Black of course. When she saw what she looked like, funeral was the first thing she had thought. This, however, was what the female senators dressed on TV and she had to look the part. Appearance was everything.
She sank back into her chair. The Italian leather was soooo comfortable. She could probably sleep in here.
Not now though. She had work to do. She touched her intercom. "Valarie? I think we need to get someone in here to see about the stains on the carpet. Either that or I need to find a new office."
"At once, Po... uh..." Valarie stumbled, as they hadn't quite established her official title yet.
"Ms. Steele will suffice for now, Valarie."
"Yes Ms. Steele. Your husband is waiting on line two."
"Excellent. Thank you."
She waited a beat, then picked up the phone. "Hey Cameron." She could almost see his nostrils flaring as she used his given name. "Well I suppose I could call you Buck every now and then. It'd be like one of those ironic nicknames like Curly."
A pause. "What's got into me? Well, I've got a story for you dear heart. An exclusive that'll blow your panties off. On second thought, maybe I should give it to Verna, with you being so swamped with... " She made quotation marks in the air. "...reporting and all."
She winced and held the phone away from her ear. "Such Language! So very unChristian of you, snoogiekins. I've got a driver on the way to meet you and he'll bring you over here. Get ready to have your world rocked, baby!" She hung up the phone and steepled her fingers. Oh that felt so good. Maybe she'd keep the little twerp around for laughs.
It was good to be the Queen.