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No One Expects the Spanish Inquisition

The penthouse office was pristine. Every night a special cleaning crew came in to detail every corner to insure nothing had made it past security.
Except tonight.

He sat at his desk, hands folded, deep in contemplation. The world was coming to an end. Well, not the world. Just the world as he knew it.

If the truth was revealed, which was a great possibility, there would be no end of violence. The country had long been divided into two classes, and finally, the lower class had begun to realize that they had been duped. Most of the "peasants", as he and his comrades jokingly referred to them, had been content to believe that one day, they would be in the top two percent, making millions. With television, internet, and radio, it was easy. How could they not be convinced?

He pondered for a moment whether this was what Louis XVI felt like when it dawned on him that his life was nearing an end. The man in the office was never a king, not even a president. He was just a man, doing his job, telling the citizens of the country what he knew in his heart they all believed. He would carry this belief to the very end.

Which was, as it turned out, to be the very next day. Instead of going down as the martyr he dreamed for, his death would be a symbolic sacrifice. He represented the death of the mindless, out of control, media that had destroyed a once great civilization with such simple tools as lies, deceit, and untruths.

Decades later, after the civil war was over, students would philosophize over whether he had found humor or humility in the fact his execution was aired on television, streamed on the internet, and described in detail on satellite radio.

This is under construction. I wrote it late at night and can't really think anymore, I'll continue it later.


Miss Jessie Lynn

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May 2010
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