you should have tried out canned cool whip vs. redi whip in regards to… well, other matters. now that’s a post.

I need a body to slather it all over…taking volunteers…

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Every day His visage stared down upon me. Upon all of us. Nobody was free from His glare.

You couldn’t walk down the street without feeling it on your shoulders. Bearing down on you. Pressing upon your soul. Squeezing the very life from you until it was all you could do to keep from crawling, trudging your way from His factories to His dormitories. Never out of sight. Never out of mind. On every wall, His face. On every doorway. And high above, atop His tower, was the greatest of them all, His mighty statue, malevolence made metal, reminding us all of our subservience.

The rain was filled with soot that day, even more than normal, leaving black streaks as it dribbled down the concrete walls. It was the brisk wind driving the foul water upon me, fouling my sight, that caused me to stumble down that alleyway. And there, freed by the gale from a pile of unrecognizable filth, I found them.

Aerosol cans.

Once, as a child, I had seen what these were for. Before His control was absolute. Rebels would violate His image with those cans, truth blasting out of them, sharp red and orange lines and curves obscuring the black and white of His smirking face. DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER, they scribbled. FREEDOM IS STRENGTH.

It had been a long, long time. But when I saw those cans, I remembered. And I knew what I had to do.

Quickly I snatched up the two cans, burying them in the inner pockets of my mackintosh to hide them from the ever present eyes. I strode briskly from the alley, my mind aflame with determination. And there, standing before me, above His tower, ten times the height of a mortal man, was His statue.

The darkness of the polluted precipitation was my shield, obscuring me from the cameras, the guards, the police, as I made my climb. When the sun would finally come out, it would look down upon my handiwork, a mighty blasphemy across His most prominent image. Though the metal was cold, my hands burned with determination, pulling me up faster than I ever dreamed myself capable.

The rain’s cover lasted long enough for me to reach His shoulders.

I could hear the police, down below. They were shouting, but to each other, not to me. They had no patience to talk me out of anything. Even from my height I could hear them pulling the bolts back.

The first shots ricocheted harmlessly feet off target. I pulled out the cans and gave them a vigorous shake. A bullet grazed my leg, throwing off my balance. Another struck me in the shoulder. But they were too late to stop me. I held the cans before me, aimed straight at his foul face, and fired away.

Crimson filled my vision. For one moment, one glorious moment, I saw the streaks splash across that terrible countenace, like a child smearing herself with her mother’s lipstick. But something was wrong. From the aerosol cans came not the contraband colors I had hoped, but thick white fluff, catching in the wind, flying up and around me. The red was only my own blood.

As I fell, I saw the rain wipe the last of the whipped cream from His face, so He could look down upon me in victory, one final time.

Once again, why aren’t you writing more? These comments always delight me…and they are so well written.

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