skonen_blades: (Default)
The truth can be avoided
Because a soft no
A polite no
A demure no
A polite no
An insinuated no
A non-verbal no
Isn't heard
Or its called ambiguous
Or its called open to interpretation
And a no with backbone
A no clearly stated
Is met with hurt feelings
From guys that aren't jerks Gloria
What are you trying to say
Or worse
The righteous anger that gives moral license to violence
To taking what he wants
There needs to be more middle ground
Entirely from men
Women have made lifetimes out of adaptation
Avoidance of violence becoming eternal
The armor of defusing bombs
With a smile
Like its a joke
And not the scream of a trapped animal



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skonen_blades: (appreciate)
December 5th, 2009. This was the day when death would rain down on the worst part of the American capitalist culture.

The news feeds would pick up the incredible footage, the world would quake with dread, and my team will have successfully put the torch to “the last and greatest betrayal of the last and greatest of human dreams”, as William S Burroughs had said. Though we will not live to see our impact, we are sure of our flawless plan. We will make our mark.

This is the day the heart of America dies. The fact that it died years ago and turned green with the cancer of money is something America failed to notice so I feel no guilt. I will be killing fat, stupid people that possess no concept of what it’s like to starve or fight. I will be killing people who do not leave the state they were born in. I will be killing people with no education and no passports. I will be killing people that have no idea that the food they are eating, the cars they drive, and even the clothes they are wearing and already soaked with the blood of poor countries the world over.

Hopefully, my team and I will be killing ignorance as well. There is a prepared statement I have sent to the television stations that will arrive tomorrow morning.

The fact that I will be killing families with children is of no consequence to me. This idea will affect the globe and a few innocents in the gears will only help to oil the machine.

Today is Walt Disney’s birthday.

I have smuggled guns inside the empty golf carts used to get around in the underground network that the tourists never see beneath the park’s attractions. My team has killed the guards and entertainers in this sector. We have taken their place. Our ruse will not be detected until it’s too late. The camera feeds have been cut and looped. We are invisible to the security for at least another two hours.

We’ll only need thirty minutes.

I pull on the huge, white, three-fingered gloves. I put on the giant mouse head. I grab already-loaded uzis from the golf cart. Bullet belts criss-cross my little tuxedo. I have an AK and two pistols strapped to me for when the uzis run out. After that, I have a lifejacket made of C4 to take out as much of the park as possible.

At my side, I can see Minnie and Goofy are ready to go. Jiminy, Pinnochio and Donald nod their readiness to me. They look ridiculous with oversized heads and big smiles. Their huge eyes glint under the fluorescent indoor lights, incongruous with the ammunition and weaponry they openly display.

The six cameramen are outside already, posing as tourists, ready to capture as much of it as possible. It will be beamed shortwave to satellites where it will be recorded. It will live on as the worst footage that America has ever seen. It will end American tourism.

On my command, we will go out into the sunlight and spread as far as we can before people notice we’re carrying weapons. At the first scream, we will open fire until our weapons are empty. Fifteen minutes after the first shot is fired, we will compress the triggers to set off the C4.

Magic Mountain will disappear like magic. The Haunted Mansion will become haunted.

Disneyland will burn.

Long live the free world. Death to America.

I hold up my huge fist. One finger. Two fingers. Three fingers.

With a huge brown shoe, I kick open the door and we all run into the sunlight, heading in different directions.




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skonen_blades: (borg)
It wasn’t the blood or their still-staring eyes that did it. It was the smile I could feel fading on my cheeks. My throat hurt like I’d screamed myself hoarse and the muscles in my face hurt like I’d been laughing for hours. Everyone in the department was dead except for me. That kind of narrowed down the list of suspects.

I sat down hard and ran slippery hands through my hair and tried to ignore how red the room was. I tried to figure out what had happened.

I was promoted to Special Ops Admin back in ’18. I remember thinking was a juicy bit of promotion that was. I couldn’t wait to have all that access to national secrets. I was a bit naïve for someone so intelligent.

Let’s back up.

Every morning, I download my brain. Every night, I upload it to the computer. I am two people that are identical in every way except that during the day at work, one of me knows what only 8 other people in the world know; every single unclassified, need to know, off the books, super secret mission ever. My head is a filing cabinet along with the others. We sort, update and access the world’s secret files for people who, quite simply, need to know. We found it couldn’t be left to computers alone so we were chosen. We’re smart people with the right kinds of brains to be wired up and bright.

At the end of my shift and also before I go for lunch, the back of my head is jacked into the computer and the security-sensitive contents of the day’s events are encrypted and uploaded into the main computer. My work week is basically a series of lunch hours as far as my memory is concerned peppered with some scattered fragments of banal conversation that the memory techs think are allowable.

I was picked for my absurdly high IQ and specific brain makeup by my bosses here at the CityMP. I suppose whatever chose me for this attack picked me for the same reason. Or maybe it was just roulette.

According to the clock on the wall, my day started twenty minutes ago.

There are 8 bodies in the room. I am the only one left. Something must have hacked into my brain while I was off duty and lay dormant, waiting for me to download it in the morning.

I’m piecing it together when I feel my eyes squint and my cheeks tighten with a smile that doesn’t belong to me. My hands fly up to my throat and break my own neck before I can even scream.


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