Scumbags Anonymous. The Tour Continues.
Keypad composed of numbers. Password entered by that of sound. When the pitch is matched-a number illuminates. This may seem simple. Oppression is that (simple) . Many escapees have tried to sing. Their price for freedom was paid in blood.
Ah, yes, yes, quite, ummmm, keep moving forward, yes the tour is still going, keep the momentum going.
Short steps scrape across tile. Sounding like bone polished with sandpaper. In each corner stands a guard. All four. Their guns glinting from the screen-shining as if it were the sun.
Ah, yes, see this? This is God! Built by man! Yes, God! We have created him! From these fingers. These things that make our cousins, the apes, jealous. That help us dominate! What good is dominance without a presentation?
The image of a satellite exposes across the screen. The Jester runs his index finger along the bottom. Rippling the image from his touch.
Yes! See! Yes? God! This screen made of human flesh. And that! That thing there! Made to make the apes jealous! Our hope for peace. Our hope for justice. Right there! That is God. That is how we dominate. Understand?
One Open Finger-
So God is the screen?
Quick slap to the forehead. Leaves fingerprints on the Jester's forehead. One of the guards giggles like a school child during recess. Amused at the ignorance and question.
Sweet, sweet, mercy. Never ask such a stupid question! God is ALWAYS!
Clenched fist follows the knees into a prayer kneel. Collides with the tile.
GOD IS ALWAYS! The image! Never the screen.
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