static culture

Short Stories & Flash Fiction from a London Based Writer/ Film Maker

Words of Wisdom

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When I speak countries fall. Civilizations disappear. Men Weep with joy. When I speak all around me listen and in doing so fall under my spell. No living thing can resist my charm. What I say goes. What I suggest followed to the letter.

I noticed my gift develop in my teens. Small parlour tricks of suggestion applauded by peers and marvelled at by elders. But like a sarcoma this power grew in my mind, destroying everything else in its wake. Coarse rigid things like morality, empathy and ethics. Things that got in the way of lesser men when pursuing greatness. Now in my thirties my mind is honed and consumes lesser willed creatures. And best of all they enjoy this freedom of choice being stripped from them. Liberty seems to be a shackle and me the breaker of chains. When my words flow into senators ears I note their stifled smile of ecstasy. I wonder, when I charm two warring nations into peace, what flavour my lexicon is to them. Is it treacle; sweet and chewy so that it clogs up their free will? Or perhaps more silken like an intoxicating rare wine that they would happily drown in?

Envious of this witnessed sensation I have in the past played back recordings of my own voice, to try and experience the same effect. Yet when I hit play the sounds seem garbled and strange, like some abyssal creature trying to free itself from tar and in the end I turn it off as the noise begins to burn my frontal lobes. I have consulted a thousand physicians from a hundred countries but all they do is agree with me when I tell them of this enigma and then wait eagerly for my own diagnosis. Lovers too provide no insight but simply wait for my words of affection like some antiquarian opium fiend. My approach to love is blunt and people succumb to my suggestion to sleep with me without fuss. I wonder sometimes if this is akin to rape but the thought isn’t enough to stop me though I loathe to be close to anyone as a result and when weary of their presence I tell them to leave. They do so of course enthusiastically, and pack their things without a fuss. Some so eager for the pleasure that comes from heeding my words that they run through the door of my guarded mansion and into the street, clinging to their clothing while mad with delight.  The jealous eyes of guards following their footsteps. Blood on the souls of their feet where the gravel has ripped at them.

I have heard rumour that people sell recordings of my voice on the black market and that now substance abuse is at 0% in the western world, with the rest following slowly behind. This pleases me greatly so I begin to flood the market with video footage of appropriate words of wisdom and instruction. They predict that within the week all world hunger, war and disease will be eradicated. Then as a global nation unified under my effect we will look to the stars and to worlds that have yet unheard my tongue.

When I look in the mirror I think on my achievements and acknowledge that I am as a God should be, having bestowed peace on the world.  Yet I cannot help but feel like the Devil.

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Author: static culture

A Writer/ Independent Film Maker from Manchester, England living in London.

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