Nothing Approaching Reality

Nothing Approaching Reality

As she awakes, everything comes back at once like voltage Just yesterday, the deal was done. The mark was made. The power was in hand. Today, she is bound and gagged and tread upon.

She tries to bite through the rope constraining her mouth. Too thick. Struggles against the bindings around her hands and feet, done like a pro, a rancher. Hog-tied. No getting out of that.

So she waits. And weeps. And finds the pits of sorrow only one in such a place as this can feel. Is it a blessing that the door downstairs opens and heavy boots step upon wooden floors? It is over soon, this trap in which she finds herself? Suddenly she realizes, it is the beginning.

“T” as he is known, steps through the door, his swagger giving the impression of two men walking. Stout. Up the stairs he goes, to his capture. He opens the door, drools a bit at her vulnerability.

T sits. “Your name is Jane, right? Jane Jones? What kind of name is that? If I had that name, I'd change it. Or shorten it. So generic. Jane Jones.”

Jane's fear pulls at ever tendon of her body. She bristles with steaming hate bound fast. She manages to mumble “Mmmumph” which sounds enough like “Please!” that T stops.

“Jane it is. Let me make you a deal. Do you love Christ?”

Jane nods. It is irrelevant what she believes. She is Christian today.

“Good. I can't say so, but I'm a prophet. I'm actually bigger than Christ. Because there are more people today. So I'm going to tell you what to do and you'll have to do it no matter what. And I'll call it Christ but it is me. I am the special person who will unite everyone together under me. Do you understand?”

There is nothing she won't do to be free right now. “This might be my chance,” she thinks. She waves her head fervently Yes,

“Good. Fine. First rule is, you're gonna have lots of kids. Not with me. I'm not going to rape you are anything. Unless that's your thing? That's not your thing. And I know it hurts right now, being tied, but you'll get used to it.”

“This bastard is never going to let me go!” She gags on the rope binding her mouth, begins to hyperventilate “Death will save me,” she thinks to herself.

“Oh, of course you can speak.” T removes the gag to Jane”s gasps.

“Just *pant* let me *gasp* me go,” Jane screams, falling over.

“Oh, sure. You can go.” T unties her. “Where are you going to go? This is your house. I moved in. But leave. Go ahead. You'll miss me. You'll want me back. But go.”

Standing now, Jane gets the full baring of her senses. This is her house, her study. There's her book, still unfinished, but getting there.

The pictures of her kids strike her. Just yesterday, they would have grown to be equals, one a boy, Charles, and the girl, Faye, is black. But with T moving in, Faye just won't understand. How did her fate get decided so quickly? How can this T guy really be in control? How can I get out of here?

Charles might like it. It is a mother's duty to take care of her children, all of them, so, though she knew Charles may even be twice the man if T stayed around, and pain by Faye that she could prevent, she had to try.

“Mr. T,” she said. “How can we make this right?”

“I was telling you. And you're going to give all your money to my friends.”

“No! Mr. T. Please! Listen to me.”

“Put the gag back in.” When Jane didn't immediately agree, T gets angry. “Put the rope back in your mouth. Please.”

“I'm not going to...”

“Yes you will. Now put it in your mouth. Please. I asked twice. Please.”

“There is no way...”

Suddenly T's voice grows thunderous. Only he can be heard, in the house, in the town, and all across the countryside. “I want you to start hating Hispanic people. And we don't hate your daughter, we just want her marginalized But if she does commit a crime, we'll want her to get caught and serve a lot of time. But if you son gets caught, he was just being one of the boys, you know? That's how it has been forever, you know I'm sure, Jane, forever. So you don't have to do anything different. And you're fine! You're white! What did you want to say?”

Jane had been at full projection for the entirety of that. Any word she said was drowned, though, by T's very presence. But when he stops to let her speak, she finds that she cannot. Suddenly she knows that her own voice would be now strange. Instead of the retort T so desperately requires, she draws in breath.

“I didn't think you could talk to me. It's ok. It's hard to talk to me. Ask my servants They don't disobey at all. They do what I say. Are you ready to do at I say?” T continues.

No hesitancy this time. “No! Get out of...”

“I'm sorry, Jane. I didn't catch that. Could you repeat that? You need to listen to more Country music. Or Southern Rock. That will make you better to understand. Slow down. What were you saying?”

“Get out...”

“See, you can say what you want but that's the wrong answer. Family values. You're going to have to do family values.”

Suddenly, God approaches. With a magical sword, he touches T so as to bring the truth into light. T shutters, a great chill overwhelming him. As he crumples, a wracking cough expunges great streams of phlegm unto the floor. It engulfs Sam, Jane's father, now entering the room, but T is incapacitated.

“Dad,” she screams, but it is too late. Still, the gnarly T is down! She gathers strength and numbers and we drag him to the door.

“You cannot vanquish me!” cries a revitalized T. But it is too late. He is at the portal, beyond it. There is no going back inside. He had his chance and he is gone. As a final flare, T pulls out the grenade and hurls it mightily. It explodes in his face. Hobbled and bleeding and now frail, T staggers off.

The old man, the caretaker, steps out of his cottage facing the house.

“I can take over now. I'll keep you safe and all you'll have to do is go back to the way things were before,” he says.

“That is what T said,” she responds quickly.

“Not as long before. That is what I will give you. Perpetual mid-90's to 2010. Obama, but with more Capitalism.”

“So much for pretending it's an allegory,” Jane says to the camera.

“Follow me?” The old man reaches out his hand.

“Yes. Yeah. Ok. As long as you clean up that phlegm. But just for a little while, right? I mean, you're not staying forever?”

“He will return. You have but wounded him. T. He will come back. He heals already. He is an eternal beast that cannot be beat but by me!” As the old man extends on this last part, his spine give way.

Jane sits, staring at the enfeebled old man writhing before her. She thinks, “It is either this diminished fool to keep me from servitude or it is servitude its self.” And then, out loud:

“F---”