Bondaged in Fugue

Bondaged in Fugue

Insight into a CEO

” Are you listening to me? I need your disease, I know what you are and your poison is my anti-venom. All the ways that I can hurt someone are all the ways I can make you happy…”

The fucked up promise from a business man, the mindfuck of life. The worst psychotic is the one who isn’t prescribed a medication but evades the watchful eyes of the public’s standards. This is the buttoned down man who takes your phone calls, the clean cut repair man who shows up promptly to fix your cable television, the cook in the back of the restaurant who prepared the finest steak of your life (not because he followed the restaurants ingrediants but because he made it like his ‘pa’), the one you’d least expect. He was talking to the love of his apparant life, the only one who ‘knows’ him. A whore, slut, sex slave, deviant - whatever. Fact is, he loved her (too much for too short a period of time) and she saw a glimpse of who he really was. He stuggled with the concept of a creature as putird as her knowing his dark desires, even someone as disgusting as her. So what? So she could let everyone know; he was a figure of prominant status and could lose all of this - a diseased corporation of filth. She’s a whore? Does it make a difference to anyone? No. Could he lose it all? Of course, people love a winner and loser abused by those high profile executive types. He knew the whore had to die.

“Padded rooms can’t save her from me, ex-marines and bodyguard boyfriends won’t stop me”

He’d practice murdering her while pacing in his high-ceilinged office…

“She immortalized every ounce of my desire, those wide eyes and perfect snarl. She cringed like I prayed she would and panted like the slut I was meant to fuck over. I loved her begging, as autonomous as it was, disgusted as she may have been - I was fucking turned on by the more she was tortured by this facade…”

Every breath he knew she was still breathing seemed to wrack his brain, she should’ve been dead by now…

“Her moaning. after I truly got to her - when she was undeniably ravaged and enamoured by my force- that fucking moaning always echoes in my mind. Who could/would suspect me as being so fucking psychotic, not even under a toxic substance and feeling ethereality. I’m what your mother warned you about. I’m worse then the worst serial fiends, I’ll cease to end your torment and cower at your punishment to further the dramatise. I love the howling.”

Torrents of misplaced anger fueled by undiscloused sorrow, the affinity of our creation can’t be death…

“In your monotone voice, beg for me”

You could see him standing in the mirror, smearing lipstick on his face and reciting cheesy pickup lines to himself…

“Tell me I’m everything you loathe, destroy me… Don’t be afraid to murder the only one you’ve ever loved. Embrace my dying body.”

“You know you’re my bondage, you know that survival without you is insolence-

- mistress does not approve of that”

“Tell me you’ve never wanted a part of everything I am. I’m all you’ve ever dreamed about, you have to know that my existence is the opposite of what God offered, satisfaction without salvation is MY promise”

He knew she could love him, if he paid her enough…

His face etched with the worries of a modern man, the reclining leather office chair clicked as he swayed his weight further into the back of the chair, sweat glistened down his greivous looking face as he pressed the revolver to his temple. His facial features cringed as he began to sob, relapses of the past weeks played over and over again in his mind. “Give me a sign… Give me hope”

The telephone on his desk rang all too abruptly, almost menacingly precisely.

“Hello” the man clammered fumbling, trying to shove the revolver back into the desk drawer.

“Sir, we’re sorry for the intrusion, but we have good news and bad news…”

“I’ll take the bad first” he said in a pre-dispositioned negative tone.

Fast forward to the hour of the revolver and blubbering fat man, to desperation in living and redemotion in faith. In our darkest hours, faith can still come through.

“Sorry sir, that’s not an option. Your daughter’s alive, but barely…” The man continued talking but the CEO shrunk down into his chair and drifted further away from the voice.