Na-NOT-WriMo Submission 5
Client - manamar
Theme - Post Apocalypse Sci Fi
Sentence - As Bill Clinton once said, "Dammit, Monica! I said 'Sack my cook and hold my calls'!"
Forgiveness
The Governor raged with a blazing fury.
“How dare they? How very DARE they? It will not stand. It! Will! Not! Stand!”
Had he not been magnanimous? Had he not been benevolent, fair and just to the refugees? Had they not taken refuge within his walls? Eaten food from his table? Mind you, the food... but that had already been taken care of. But the cheek of these people! To take from him and give only hatred and lies in return. To spurn him, reject his advances, and then sow dissent among his subjects. They could never understand what difficulties he faced, could never grasp the burden of his office.
Examples would have to be made, oh yes. Examples.
The heavy bakelite telephone on his desk began to ring. He did not stop what he was doing.
“Monica! MONICA! Worthless little bitch, where are you?!”
“Here, Sir,” the young woman stuttered as she poked her head around the door.
“As Bill Clinton once said, 'Dammit, Monica! I said *Sack my cook and hold my calls*'!”
“Y-yes, Sir” she stammered, obviously confused. “Who is he again, Sir?” The phone continued to ring, it's bell high pitched and grating.
“That doesn't matter, you dumb cunt. What matters is that I told you to hold all of my calls, and yet my telephone rings. Don't just stand there... find out who it is and what they want!”
Monica closed the door behind her and scurried across the richly appointed carpet, her bare feet briefly luxuriating in the sensation of the softness against her scarred skin as she hurried to pick up the telephone. She did not have to ask who the caller was, nor where they were calling from, as only one other telephone connected to the office, and only one person would have dared to disobey the Governor by making the call right now, during his private time. She asked anyway.
“The Governor's office. May I ask who is calling, please?”
“Is he there, Monica?” came the reply. She confirmed to Gate Master Oday that the Governor was in his office.
“There's someone here who wants to speak to you, Monica. Are you ready?”
“What does he want, bitch?” the Governor growled menacingly.
“One moment, Sir,” replied Monica, trying to keep the fear from her voice. “Yes, Master Oday, carry on.”
Another voice spoke.
“Child, it is time. He forgives you for what you are about to do, and stands ready to take you to His breast. Your sins will be forgiven, but first you must atone for them, and for the sins of your sisters. He has put you on His path, child. Will you walk it?”
Monica paused for a moment, before replying “I will. Thank you.” She replaced the receiver onto the telephone and turned to face the Governor.
“Well? Why did Oday fucking call me during my private time?”
“A message, Sir, from the Sister-Captain.”
The Governor's face turned a deeper shade of beet red.
“What the fuck does that ungrateful whore want to tell me, huh? What does she fucking want to say that she has not already said? Does she want to preach to me about her fucking gods? Does she want to lecture me on how to govern my people? What? What does she want to tell me?”
Monica stared at the Governor as he stood and turned to face her. Blood dripped from his split knuckles and caked under his fingernails. He began his tirade once more.
“Obviously she could never understand. Never understand what Father and Grandfather did for their subjects. Never appreciate how my forebears guided the rebuilding after The Wars, how they took this colony, sheltered it's people and made it strong. Never accept that there is a natural order to things; that the blood runs true and that a man's word should be law. Women. All alike. Well, she'll learn her fucking place. Be a good girl just like you, in time, eh? Now, tell me, what did that dogma spouting slut have to say for herself, hmm?”
Her eyes dropping to the broken, bloody mess on the floor that had once been her sister, Monica tucked her hands behind her back and began to slowly hitch up her filthy, ragged shift as she spoke.
“Sir, the Sister-Captain wishes you to know that the sin of tyranny can not be forgiven and that y--”
The Governor's meaty hand wrapped around her throat as he slammed her to the wall, her feet six inches from the floor.
“You filthy little bitch. You think that you can just... convert? You think you have any choice in what you do? You're my PROPERTY, you and every other... woman within these walls! You are mine. MINE! You will do as your master commands!”
Choking, Monica's hands desperately scrabbled at the small of her back, her fingernails finally catching purchase and ripping off the tape. She violently brought the shard of glass forwards and stabbed upwards again, and again and again. Blood soaked the twine wrapped around the shank as the Governor's mind finally comprehended that his slave had betrayed him and released his grip, staggering backwards as she fell.
“Oh, you slut, you fucking woman. Guards! Oh you've killed me, you stupid whore...”
He began to grow unsteady, his hands slipping across the table as he slumped into his antique leather chair.
“You've fucking killed me. Glass. Fucking metal detectors. Guards!” he yelled, lips frothing with blood. The ornate handles turned, but the door was magnetically sealed, Monica having slipped the lock on as she entered the room.
With one last rattle of breath, the Governor died.
Monica pulled herself upright and walked slowly over to her sister's silent, still body. She sat on the floor and cradled it's head on her lap, stroking the hair gently as she began to say her prayers, just as the Sister-Captain had taught her.
The doors shook as the guards sought to break them down. Monica knew that the Sister-Captain's retinue and the converts led by Oday would take and control the island by the morning, hopefully with as few deaths as possible; just as she knew that she would not live to see that dawn. Nor did she want to. Her other sisters would have the chance to live in the Sister-Captain's promised Kingdom of Heaven, but enough was enough, and it was her time. She was only thankful that His grace had brought the Sister-Captain to the colony before she had given in.
“We're going to a better place, Bethany” she whispered, staring over at her father's naked body; the shard of smoked glass still jutting obscenely from his gut.
With a crack, the doors splintered.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, but they were finally tears of joy.
AUTHORS NOTE - This began in my head as a Mel Brooks comedy. That took on a dark twist halfway through the first paragraph and never recovered. Blame my medication.
This one probably isn't for the faint of heart.
Theme - Post Apocalypse Sci Fi
Sentence - As Bill Clinton once said, "Dammit, Monica! I said 'Sack my cook and hold my calls'!"
Forgiveness
The Governor raged with a blazing fury.
“How dare they? How very DARE they? It will not stand. It! Will! Not! Stand!”
Had he not been magnanimous? Had he not been benevolent, fair and just to the refugees? Had they not taken refuge within his walls? Eaten food from his table? Mind you, the food... but that had already been taken care of. But the cheek of these people! To take from him and give only hatred and lies in return. To spurn him, reject his advances, and then sow dissent among his subjects. They could never understand what difficulties he faced, could never grasp the burden of his office.
Examples would have to be made, oh yes. Examples.
The heavy bakelite telephone on his desk began to ring. He did not stop what he was doing.
“Monica! MONICA! Worthless little bitch, where are you?!”
“Here, Sir,” the young woman stuttered as she poked her head around the door.
“As Bill Clinton once said, 'Dammit, Monica! I said *Sack my cook and hold my calls*'!”
“Y-yes, Sir” she stammered, obviously confused. “Who is he again, Sir?” The phone continued to ring, it's bell high pitched and grating.
“That doesn't matter, you dumb cunt. What matters is that I told you to hold all of my calls, and yet my telephone rings. Don't just stand there... find out who it is and what they want!”
Monica closed the door behind her and scurried across the richly appointed carpet, her bare feet briefly luxuriating in the sensation of the softness against her scarred skin as she hurried to pick up the telephone. She did not have to ask who the caller was, nor where they were calling from, as only one other telephone connected to the office, and only one person would have dared to disobey the Governor by making the call right now, during his private time. She asked anyway.
“The Governor's office. May I ask who is calling, please?”
“Is he there, Monica?” came the reply. She confirmed to Gate Master Oday that the Governor was in his office.
“There's someone here who wants to speak to you, Monica. Are you ready?”
“What does he want, bitch?” the Governor growled menacingly.
“One moment, Sir,” replied Monica, trying to keep the fear from her voice. “Yes, Master Oday, carry on.”
Another voice spoke.
“Child, it is time. He forgives you for what you are about to do, and stands ready to take you to His breast. Your sins will be forgiven, but first you must atone for them, and for the sins of your sisters. He has put you on His path, child. Will you walk it?”
Monica paused for a moment, before replying “I will. Thank you.” She replaced the receiver onto the telephone and turned to face the Governor.
“Well? Why did Oday fucking call me during my private time?”
“A message, Sir, from the Sister-Captain.”
The Governor's face turned a deeper shade of beet red.
“What the fuck does that ungrateful whore want to tell me, huh? What does she fucking want to say that she has not already said? Does she want to preach to me about her fucking gods? Does she want to lecture me on how to govern my people? What? What does she want to tell me?”
Monica stared at the Governor as he stood and turned to face her. Blood dripped from his split knuckles and caked under his fingernails. He began his tirade once more.
“Obviously she could never understand. Never understand what Father and Grandfather did for their subjects. Never appreciate how my forebears guided the rebuilding after The Wars, how they took this colony, sheltered it's people and made it strong. Never accept that there is a natural order to things; that the blood runs true and that a man's word should be law. Women. All alike. Well, she'll learn her fucking place. Be a good girl just like you, in time, eh? Now, tell me, what did that dogma spouting slut have to say for herself, hmm?”
Her eyes dropping to the broken, bloody mess on the floor that had once been her sister, Monica tucked her hands behind her back and began to slowly hitch up her filthy, ragged shift as she spoke.
“Sir, the Sister-Captain wishes you to know that the sin of tyranny can not be forgiven and that y--”
The Governor's meaty hand wrapped around her throat as he slammed her to the wall, her feet six inches from the floor.
“You filthy little bitch. You think that you can just... convert? You think you have any choice in what you do? You're my PROPERTY, you and every other... woman within these walls! You are mine. MINE! You will do as your master commands!”
Choking, Monica's hands desperately scrabbled at the small of her back, her fingernails finally catching purchase and ripping off the tape. She violently brought the shard of glass forwards and stabbed upwards again, and again and again. Blood soaked the twine wrapped around the shank as the Governor's mind finally comprehended that his slave had betrayed him and released his grip, staggering backwards as she fell.
“Oh, you slut, you fucking woman. Guards! Oh you've killed me, you stupid whore...”
He began to grow unsteady, his hands slipping across the table as he slumped into his antique leather chair.
“You've fucking killed me. Glass. Fucking metal detectors. Guards!” he yelled, lips frothing with blood. The ornate handles turned, but the door was magnetically sealed, Monica having slipped the lock on as she entered the room.
With one last rattle of breath, the Governor died.
Monica pulled herself upright and walked slowly over to her sister's silent, still body. She sat on the floor and cradled it's head on her lap, stroking the hair gently as she began to say her prayers, just as the Sister-Captain had taught her.
The doors shook as the guards sought to break them down. Monica knew that the Sister-Captain's retinue and the converts led by Oday would take and control the island by the morning, hopefully with as few deaths as possible; just as she knew that she would not live to see that dawn. Nor did she want to. Her other sisters would have the chance to live in the Sister-Captain's promised Kingdom of Heaven, but enough was enough, and it was her time. She was only thankful that His grace had brought the Sister-Captain to the colony before she had given in.
“We're going to a better place, Bethany” she whispered, staring over at her father's naked body; the shard of smoked glass still jutting obscenely from his gut.
With a crack, the doors splintered.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, but they were finally tears of joy.
AUTHORS NOTE - This began in my head as a Mel Brooks comedy. That took on a dark twist halfway through the first paragraph and never recovered. Blame my medication.
This one probably isn't for the faint of heart.