it was an apocalyptic time.
the authoritarians were taking over,
they pretended to be beneficient.
but they were really bad.
charlotte jones contemplated the scene from her window on the seventh floor.
she thought it was all very delimiting.
she resolved to write the definitive history of what was transpiring.
her account was exhaustive.
many extraordinary things happened.
she was describing the fulminating speech of senator tucker that sparked the overthrow of the third coalition when frank familiar burst into the room.
frank was a fascist whom charlotte had dated briefly in her third year of grad school before discovering his true nature.
but charlotte truly loved freedom and wanted to be who she was.
frank was gregarious and overbearing.
and pronounced himself a universal genius.
but he was not really much good at much of anything.
he wrote a book on the history of the world which attempted to be groundbreaking.
he pronounced that there was no such thing as happenstance, that everything happened for a reason.
and that the human race was doomed unless it heeded his warnings.
against the hypocritical masters of the earth, who cared only for their own immediate gratification.
but his inflammatory words failed to ignite.
and the human race clung stubbornly to its indigenous apathy.
the imperialist dogs went their laughing way.
and mocked poor frank’s judicious analyses, insofar as they took any notice of them at all.
frank’s brain turned into a bitter kaleidoscopic mush, and he walked the streets talking to himself.
his once expansive mind dwindled to a lilliputian parody of its former self.
he rejected magnanimity and embarked on a narrow path in a dark wood.
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