Phantoms

By Emmanuelle

I am not frightened. I am very frightened.

It is a clear case of deja vu – here yesterday, here again, here tomorrow. It is not a dreadful dream. No. It is a nightmare most horrible.

The immortals have triumphed once again.

The dark gods, visible or invisible, never let up the pressure. The sharp teeth knew where to bite, to draw blood, to suck   fresh young arteries or purplish veins bulging thin with old age. The sharp crooked claws rasped as they scratched then clutched the victims in tight vise.

After this feast, the dark gods shall be immortals for many more years.

After this feast, the victims shall turn virtual slaves. There shall be no other way out for the willing ones who were lured on – in the first place – by their hungry, thirsty, greedy selves. The most basic, the most base. They climbed over each other, grimy hands grabbing, seizing the choicest cuts, chewing, stuffing juicy tidbits into mouth already spilling over. Gnawing, growling for more and bigger hacks of chunks. 

Their cumulative hunger and thirst transcend beyond nocturnal. Two evenings to two early mornings – it was an orgy held under the hypnotic spell of temptation and mutual satisfaction.  The dark of the night shielded them. At the dawning of day, the thick walls, thick glass plates, and their even thicker sunglasses kept them from melting in the naked glare of the sun. Kept them, too, from looking guiltily into the watchful eyes of the angels.

This time, when heaven wept, heaven wept hard.

And because the angels have not seen into their eyes, heaven must have wept somewhere else. Where the innocents dwell and drowned with their arms raised to the sky.

The dark gods have shown the way, the pack masters followed through, and the slaves barked forth their mean, blind, senseless obedience. Yet it only seemed mean and blind and senseless to the sinless and the less sinful. To the initiated and the confirmed to the rites, the obedience is all-seeing, all-perceiving, the most purposeful and sensible of all actions:

The gods, the pack masters and the victims-turned-slaves want to be immortals for many more years.

There were still the rare and scattered ones who dared to move against the flow of the pack. They barked, or rather whined, their protest. But because only a few of them are really sinless and because the less sinful have other interests of their own, their joint bark came out too weak, too ineffectual to be heard above the noise of the pack.

Though this is vampiric, this is not a story of vampires. I write about our representatives in Congress, majority of which have truly ceased to represent the true majority of us.

Shame on you. You never got the message right, have you? May heaven rain more curses on you.

Watching and listening to you in action, I was not only shocked, horror-struck, dismayed, aghast. I was disgusted, sickened, nauseous, revolted.

I was not merely annoyed; I was irritated, angry, irate, cross, infuriated, incensed, heated, livid, enraged, outraged, furious, fuming, gnashing my teeth. I did not only go round the bend to slightly barmy or nutty; I was mad, insane, crazily foaming in the mouth. 

I started to tell a lovely story on deja vu. Now I have this gangrenous pus of rage to drain off my system.

 Once, a few months ago, a very close relative of PGMA told me that charter change, no-el, etc. would win in the end. I said: “Just do it the right way; just don’t shove the lot down our throats.” 

They have done it their way; they have shoved the lot down our throats.

Excuse me while I choke.

(For past columns, click http://sundaypunch.prepys.com/archives/category/opinion/feelings/)

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