Christopher WunderLee - Moore's Mythopoeia

A castle in the Bavarian Alps was chosen as the venue. Bella Umgrililo, the famous cook, was appointed as the head chef. Graham would wear a Victorian suit with a silk tie. Haddie was having her dress designed by the House of Templar, the most exclusive designers in the world and George Van Santi would work on it personally. The wedding would be carried by all nine hundred sites and would be a two-hour special right after the World Serenity Bowl. Haddie would look innocent, yet appealing. Her ivory gown would be long, flowing, and modest. But, the neck line would allow for glimpses of her breasts, her arms would be bare and she’d wear frosty thigh-high stockings so that when they time came and she lifted her dress up there’d be some skin for the viewing public to see. Michelangelo Tijuana was doing her hair and she would appear to be wearing a crown. There would be sweepstakes for six lucky citizens to attend the reception. It was the most talked about affair in recent memory. Graham Greene, the most eligible bachelor in the world, was marrying Haddie Springfield, daughter of one of the richest men on the face of the earth. The entire country was holding their breath. How exciting!

“Graham Greene’s getting married to Haddie Springfield, of the Springfield shipping empire, honey. Can you believe that?”

“No.”

“It’s so exciting. Can you imagine how much they’re going to spend on it? Why the flowers alone will probably cost millions. I can’t wait, it’s going to be on every site.”

“What happened to me?”

“The doctors aren’t sure, honey. Somehow you had 9,000 milligrams of medication in your system. They were hoping you could tell them what happened. Their current theory is that somehow you’re lunch was infected.”

“So, I didn’t die.”

“Well, you almost did. You gave us quite a scare. You’ve been so unlucky lately, honey. My word, I mean falling out of that window and the steak knife incident and that head-on collision in Ralph’s car. My word, honey, we’re lucky they got to you when they did,” Norma Moore said Aristarchusly.

“Why?”

“Because they were able to pump your stomach and induce counteractive inhibitors into your system in time. A few minutes later, well, you can guess. Just sit back and take it easy. The company’s sending over flowers and an apology, they’re looking into the infection, there’s an investigation going on.”

“Okay.”

“What kind of dress do you think she’ll wear?”

“Who?”

“Haddie Springfield, she’s so attractive, don’t you think,” Joseph’s wife asked, holding a magazine article in front of him.

“Yes.”

“Prettier than me? Do you think she’s prettier than me, Joseph?”

“Yes, you’re an ugly cow. She’s an angel.”

“Joseph! How can you say that? The doctor’s told me this might happen, it’s okay. I know you don’t mean it, it’s just the drugs.”

“It’s not the drugs. I’ve always thought you were ugly. I just married you because no one else wanted me.”

“Joseph, please, honey, try to control yourself. Don’t say mean things you don’t mean.”

“I won’t. Why don’t you go away, now?”

“Why? I’m not leaving your side, Joey. You need me.”

“I need you like I need to hear about all that shit in that magazine.”

“Joseph!”

“I don’t care if Graham Greene’s a pedophile and he’s marrying his favorite horse. I don’t care if he’s marrying the mayor. Who cares?”

“I care. You should care because I do. We should care about each other’s interests.”

“I’ve been having an affair.”

“What? With whom? When?”

“Her name is Flower.”

“Do you work with her?”

“No, she’s my guardian angel. I tried to tell you about it before but you wouldn’t listen. She comes to me and we have rough sex. She talks like a sailor and she loves me. I think I’m in love with her.”

“Jesus, Joseph. They told me you’d act like this. It’s okay; I can handle it. It’s the drugs.”

“No, no, it’s not. I’m fucking Flower and she’s cumming every time. I’m trying to kill myself, you dumb bitch.”

“I can’t do this, I’m getting a nurse. Stay there, Joseph. Don’t worry; I don’t hate you. You don’t mean it. There’s no Flower; it’s the drugs. Stay there.”

“There is a Flower!”

* * *

Arthur Dodger and two other men were in the back of a van, with a fourth driving and fifth riding shotgun. “Two minutes,” the passenger tossed over his shoulder. The men in the carriage began to suit up. Arthur placed his mask over his head, cocked and ready to go. He dove into his bag to check his equipment. “Book?” “Check.” “Mask?” “Check.” “Radio?” “Check.” “Alright, remember guys, in and out. We do this and we’re out of there. No lengthy stay, just a quick job and we’re back at the house.” “We’re at the park,” the passenger hollered. “Alright, ready?” “Let’s do this.” The van lurched towards its preset position, a small compact car zooming away conveniently just as the van approached. “Space is open.” The passenger leapt out and slid the side door open.

Dodger and the two men poured out of the van and jogged towards the center of the park. One of them veered off at the fountain with the ducks, while the other turned at the statue, while Arthur continued on towards the main thoroughfare. Several groups of people were picnicking on nearby lawns, walking along the lengthy path towards the park’s man-made lake (complete with swans, ducks, and geese), jogging, riding bicycles, and other exercise-related activities. Arthur ran across the lawn towards the apex of four of the paths, where several large groups were sitting and a lot of foot traffic would be present, and pulled his wolf mask down over his face. From a hedge nearby, he pulled out a wooden box and placed it near an ornate lamppost. He stepped up onto it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, just a moment of your time, if you please. Here you are, enjoying a beautiful day, but let me ask everyone of you to consider the question: are you truly free? Can anyone of us be truly free when we are controlled, from birth to death, by an enormous invasive machine, with no face, no accountability? I say no, I say we are lulled into this quasi-tranquility under the pretenses of harmony, yet we give up too much for it. It is our right to pursue happiness, our version of happiness, not a democratically sanctioned version of happiness, not a homogenized, same for every person version of happiness. But our version of happiness, our version of what is that which makes us, each one of us, content. Does working yourself to death for more and more useless things make you happy? Does following all these rules, all these procedures make you happy? Why are these in existence, do any of you believe they are there for our happiness? No, no, they are there to make us believe we are all rocketing towards the ultimate place, the realm of harmony? But is harmony reasonably our ultimate aim, or is our own happiness, collectively the general good? Do you wish to live a life of bought and bartered for happiness? Someone else’s version of what would make you happy? Why must we consume, buy more houses, buy a new car, buy more boats, buy more electronics, buy more, buy more, buy more, buy more… Why is it that insurance is mandatory, why is it that we’re all on drug regimens, why is it that we allow our government to determine when we should marry, whom we should marry, how many children we should have, and how often we should have them? Why is it that we allow them to engineer our children as if they were computers, to wean them on drug cocktails, to infuse them with their ideals and not our own? Who amongst you wishes to live a perfect world that is only perfect because they force it to be? Is that utopia? No, I say, no, we must forge onward, for it is possible, we can achieve perfection, but not this way, not with our liberties stripped from us like we’re pets, as though we’re children that just don’t know any better. We must work, do not accept the chains, regardless of how lightly they bind you. For only through our continued attempt at a true, libertine paradise shall we ever evolve beyond apes.”