Soliloquy of a loyal vulture

Soliloquy of a loyal vulture
′′ I always considered Satan an Anglo-Saxon.
And since Baal, and Nero, and Cain are the sons of Scandinavia,
Then Lucifer must have been a Slav. ′′

-- author

′′ ... And so there they were. Standing opposite each other. Facing one another. Staring at each other′s eyes. Staring with no other emotion but hatred. Pure, scarlet, filthy, decaying feeling, in the radiance of which the garden flowers not only withered but seemed to rot. For you see, Oknehsorop has done something Namsyorg never expected of him. Neither expected nor imagined in his most wild, most brave, most disgusting of dreams. It all became apparent to him now. Blatant and disclosed. Obvious. In fact, it now became obvious to them all: Vonyhcrut, Kuynestay, Oknehsomyt, Yiburap, Okhsayl, et al... It all began to glow: the facts. The fact now glowed in the very rays of candor and frankness – as if the light came from the Sun, and truth - has turned into silver. Oknehsorop was behind it all.
The sexy looks he has given to the public over the years. The promises he never really planned to keep. The candies and sweets he produced over these years - it all was a part of his evil, elaborate and perversely sick plot.
He never really cared about the reforms he proposed initially. During his chaotic and sudden election campaign; during his sudden reign and start of presidential career... he refused to provide what he promised to the general public originanlly. In those days of insanity - when lung-clogging, plastic smoke of burning tires covered the capital like ash of some unknown erupting volcano.
Things he suggested; ideas he borne... - just a couple of years ago – no longer surfaced. No longer did the idealogy and philosophy he preached play any role in in his twisted spectacle. Just like that! As if nothing was in fact promised, and nothing was claimed. Finger snap! And just like that, with a wistful sigh, all he seemingly dreamt of and fought for has changed. Drastically. Radically. Into something the people, his supporters, no longer understood and – I can imagine – wanted.
All he ever wanted was to sell the land. Once a land of his own entrepreneureal ambitions – it was now merely a business project. Nothing to see here, folks, but the land for sale. For sale to the very highest of all bidders.
Factories, farmlands, sea ports, airports, plants and hi-tech houses - all! - were a mere set of objects and subjects of his upcoming devilish auction. Prepared, thought-out and set-up back in 2014 to cater to the most valued and most highly respected of customers - the West.
And even the living souls, I mean the citizens were to be sold at any given moment as a unneeded commodity. Their history, their past – raped; their futures - torn apart and predetermined. They are all now figures and shapes tossed and moved around someone else′s expensive, handcrafted, polished mahogany chess board. Their present - a sorrowful mess.
It all is in God′s hands now. For any instrument capable of fixing it all has already been packed, sealed and shipped to a faraway country only to be either used for a completely different purpose or to be taken apart for the sheer resource of it.
A land of pitiful fools and naive believers in the common and blissful European heaven. They were ready, you know. God! I hope you all realise that now. You realize now that they were all ready. Very ready! They were always ready to give up own lives and futures in exchange for this pathetic dream: of being scarcely valued, of having a vaguely better life, a better tomorrow... Europeans without Europe. Morality without morale. A cultural, spiritual shift, bereft of anything the true culture and spirit stand for in the first place. Things they deserved and things they now possess – a paradigm shift.
Make me a beast. Make me a martyr. A feast! I always wanted and dreamt of. Make me a martyr! A martyr, a saint - anybody worth of remembrance. A false prophet. A false philosophy monument. A wisdomless act of pure and hateful aggression towards a more confident, stronger neighbour.
Yet you all still want it, don′t you? Years! It′s been years, and yet you all still desire what’s coming! Years of pointless black-colored suffering and humiliation; insults and laughs... And you all still want it, don′t you? You all still are ready to sell the very last of your souls to whomever’s up there – just to see your Eastern neighbor slipping, falling to the ground. They are no longer brothers, you know.
It′s all a shopping trip to you, isn′t it? You only go out for a three-seconds-long thrill of paying for a brand new dress. Although you perfectly understand that by this time tomorrow the very same dress you′ve just purchased would be tucked away very-very far away. A fast forgotten commodity. Without respect. Without a single emotion. Without a single glance of pity.
That′s exactly what you all wanted with the EU, isn′t it?
That orgasm-like thrill you looked forward so much. That experience – almost an ecstacy – that promises so-so much: when you would for once in your little lives be told ′′Congratulations, friend! You′re officially Europeans now.′′
You are all still ready, aren′t you? To leave everything behind; throw your goals and beliefs away once and for all - for one and only thing - for the sole purpose of admitting to yourselves the fact that you deserve at least something. To destroy what you have built so far just to hear - for once in your sad-sad history - the one official word of ′′Congratulations! You are now a part of our exclusive little club - a club of the weak, a club of the meak and a club of timid sleepy mice and cats.′′
You know it′ll be short, right? The glory, the respect, the expectations... – all that you want and wanted greatly. You think it will last? It won’t. When the blanket of happiness covers you and your lover head to toe: does it last long? No. Of course, not. An ocean of orgasm-like pleasure that comes and goes just like the coastal tide. You finish, and that’s that. Until next time, sweetheart! And that’s exactly what’s happening right here and now.
Association and visa-less travel. That’ll do for these bastards. They don’t deserve more. Look at them. What a silly joke of a people. Feed them filth and vague promises. That’s all they need and want really. Throw them a candy occasionally - to keep their mouths wet. That’s the best we can do for you, lads. Enjoy. Three seconds of heaven and a few words of kindness in exchange for a century of trouble. Nay! Humiliation… Fucking consequences.
I am a bird. A lonely one. Though I’m wise. I fly above all. I fly at great heights. All is obvious and apparent to me. It′s all the same now. Always the same with a blatant tendency to repeat itself. Always. Always a Goddamn loop! I′ve seen it before. The wise survive. The sly and uncanny – also do. The content ones, the patient - so do they. None of the rest though. None of the rest. The stupid and mindless – wither like flowers. The hateful - rot from within.
This is my monologue, Satan. To you. I hope you enjoyed. A monologue of a loyal vulture ... ′′

′′ Excellent work, Lucifer.′′
′′ Thank you very much, sir.′′
′′ Continue doing what you do. For as long as you can.′′
′′ Shouldn’t I give them a break? So that their flaming hearts don’t burn out too soon.′′
′′ No. We don’t want to do that, Lucifer. Carry on. Carry on with all this chaos. That’s what I – and you for that matter – ought to greatly desire. We’re going to feast on it like never before. Till the very end. Till someone smartens up; sobers up and intervenes.′′
′′ I hear you, sir.′′
′′ Good, my boy. It is good you hear me...′′

And then they both turned to face the reddest of dawns. The reddest of all the land has ever seen. The soil under their feet was dry and bloody. Silent, too. Nothing grew there. And Satan frowned; and Lucifer looked away. They walked along the shores of Sea of Sin. Calmly. With no aggression. No regret, no remorse. No kindness as well. Only wistfulness in their lifeless stare. Businessmen. Cold-blooded, cold-headed and wise. With malicious harmony in their hearts. Harmony that only devils may possess.

′′ We’re going to feast on it for as long as we can, my dear brother, my Lucifer.′′ Repeated Satan quitely with a sigh, biting his way into yet another one of his favourite, ruby red, persimmon fruits. He loved them a lot. He loved them so much. I know that for a fact. He himself told me about it.

V. Milevskiy
-- 2017

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© 07.11.2019 Вадим Милевский
Свидетельство о публикации: izba-2019-2666968

Метки: вселенная, жизнь, энергия, философия, философы, опыт, психология, жизненный, люди, смысл,
Рубрика произведения: Проза -> Рассказ