The Executive Furies

Lord-Of-Death

My brain was a court house and I was being judged. My mind was the prosecuting counsel and I didn’t have a leg to stand on. It was all happening, it was all going on, and none of it was good. The prosecution was having a field day and the judge was going to go to town on me. The judge was going to throw the book at me in a big way. I was – needless to say – conducting my own defence. No one else would take the job. The string of inadequate excuses I came out with didn’t even sound good to me, and I was the only one half-way disposed to believing them! I say ‘half-way disposed’ but this is an exaggeration – even I found them wholly unconvincing. My excuses had the unmistakeable ring of self-serving fabrications. What am I saying? They were lies, pure and simple. Nothing but lies. I was lying in court. I was lying in court and no one – not even me – was believing it. I was lying out of pure desperation. I was lying like a politician going for election. Or rather, I was lying like a politician up before an investigative tribunal. I was lying like a desperate mad bastard. I was barking lies, coughing up lies, vomiting lies. The insincere stink of my own lies lay all around me like a toxic miasma. The bad smell of them was enough to make me gag never mind anyone else. I was sickened by them – I just couldn’t stand the nauseating stink of my own transparent lies any more, and yet at the same time I couldn’t help myself from vomiting them up. I wasn’t – as I imagine I am making clear – making a very good job of my defence…

 

The more I lied and excused myself the more my own lies and excuses accused me. And I was doing a pretty good job of accusing myself, I can tell you. The lies fell thick and fast all around me like cow pats in a field. They didn’t fall far from the tree. They stood were they fell and pointed fingers of silent accusation at me. There were many accusing fingers levelled in my direction on that day and it was all my own work. It was all my own doing. No one else had to do a thing. The prosecuting counsel kept giving me the rope and I kept taking it. I took it and took it. I just kept on taking it. So much rope. I was surprised at how much rope there was. I never knew that there could be so much rope. The rope was hypnotizing me. It was a source of bewilderment for me. Eventually I came to a halt – brought up short not by the rope but by my own exhaustion. The prosecution rested his case. The judge informed the court that there was no need for the jury to retire. It was an open and shut case. There was no need for any more to be said. I had said it all. The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death rushed up to the stand and seized me by the arms. The judgement had taken place and there was nothing left but to carry out the sentence. It was a no-brainer and it was all taking place within my own brain. Nowhere else. All in my mind. All in my mind. The court house, the judge and the jury, the barristers and the briefs, it was all in my mind.

 

The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death rushed upon me and seized my arms with an iron grip, keen to carry out the sentence. Keen to carry out their duty. The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death. The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death. The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death. The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death. The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death. The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death. The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death. The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death. The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death. The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death. The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death. The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death. The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death. The Executive Furies of the Robot Lord of Death.

 

Keen to carry out their allotted task. Keen to do what was necessary. Keen to see that justice was served…

 

 

 

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