Short Story Sunday: None of his concern

Senator Wallace “Wally” Baskin stood on the podium as his fans watched on. They knew he would cut funding to arts, which after all were only for high brow perverts and didn’t do anything for the economy. He had cut funds for National Parks which everyone knew were just glorified playgrounds used by retired folks and boy scouts. Bears and rock formations were not his concern. If he didn’t see it or like it then it wasn’t his concern.

He’d never seen a bear in the wild, an underaged prostitute, a Indian burial ground, the inside of an art museum, or a whale, so they were not his concerns. He had never personally known a soldier with PSTD, or one with missing limbs so that was none of his concern. Wally Baskin had never known a child with cancer, or anyone with AIDS, or an opera singer, so they were none of his concern.

Empathy, curiosity, and compassion were for the weak. They were none of his concern.

The Senator looked out over the crowd, a mix of white, brown, and a few darker folks picked out by his staff, mixed in with people who’d just come to the State Fair to see the hogs, goats, and a popular local metal band called Fire Pods. Wally wondered about the Fire Pods. He wondered if they worshiped the Devil, or ate exotic cheeses with California wine, or had sex with women who happily showed off their large breasts and snake tattoos. He thought about them with those women, legs wrapped around the skinny lead singer with the handsome face and long blonde hair.

Wally never liked Metal music. Wally never liked any music. His kids listened to music, but he never asked them about it. They were grown now and had been poisoned against him by his first wife. He didn’t see them but he still thought about it and it made him angry.

He’d told his son that majoring in English was a waste of time. He told his daughter that she’d never find a husband if she majored in Chemistry. When his ex-wife got remarried he’d called her a whore for not being faithful to the father of his children. It didn’t matter that he’d married a woman only ten years older than his son.

His new wife, a beauty named Desiree, was always by his side in her high heels and monochromatic suits. He didn’t see her much in his off time, but she was always there with a million watt smile, not a line on her face, and not an extra pound on her body. He wasn’t allowed to often touch that body, but he didn’t think she let anyone else touch it either. Today she stood by his side smiling and holding the hands of their extremely bored nine year old twin boys.

The boys had told their father they didn’t want to be there. Wally told him he’d whip their butts if they didn’t behave, so they behaved.

Maybe Wally should have whipped the butts of his older children more. That was one reason his wife left him and poisoned his unruly children against him. He thought of his daughter asking her stepfather to walk her down the isle when she got married. Wally was still trying to find dirt on the man. He refused to go to her wedding, but instead went to a church retreat with some of his political donors. He’d rather spend a weekend with God and other’s who appreciated him rather than his loser daughter.

Senator Wallace “Wally” Baskin stood on the podium and started to talk about family values, American values, God, and bringing back the goodness of yesterday. The crowd  gave a luke warm response by clapping politely and not walking away. As he walked to his limo, with his wife and whining boys behind him, he could hear the crowd roar with approval as Fire Pods started up their noise.

Wally would find the dirt on Fire Pods and have them ruined, especially the lead singer, the good looking blonde named Ryan Green. Fuck you Ryan Green thought Wally. Your career is OVER.

At home Wally said grace over the dinner table and told his wife that he was pleased with the outcome of the day. She smiled, but looked tired, even after changing into jeans and a tee shirt. He didn’t like it when she wore jeans, but he’d gotten tired of her bitching about it. He’d check her bank account in the morning and take out some money just to teach her a lesson. The twins ate chicken nuggets in another room while he and his wife had some sort of noodle dish. She called it pasta but it would always be noodles to him.

Life was good. Wally instructed his staff to post on all of his social media sites about his good life, his good wife, and his bright manly twin boys. He watched the news about floods, fires, quakes, tornadoes, murders, and all kinds of unpleasant things but that was none of his concern. If you don’t you’re house to shake don’t live in California is what he always said.

Later that night his wife was sitting on the back deck of their mansion sipping a glass of wine. She’d taken her make-up off. Wally told his wife she looked ugly without her make-up and he’d prefer to keep it on. She called him an asshole. He slapped her. She told him that she was unhappy. He said it was none of his concern and she’d better do her job as his wife and keep us her end of the deal.

The next morning Wally woke up to the sound of nothing. No breakfast cooking. No children with their annoying noise. No sound of their annoying dog. Not his wife singing some stupid songs he didn’t recognize.

On the kitchen table he’d found a note.

Wally,

Maria will be in tonight and make you dinner. She’ll organize the domestic staff from now on so you won’t have to see them. Remember Maria, our personal chef? She is the one you called a cow when she made stir-fry that night. If you call her names again she’ll leave you.

And speaking of leaving you… I have left you. I’ve gone off with Ryan Green. I’ve taken the twins, after all Ryan is their biological father. You were too stupid to guess that. Why do you think they look so much like him. 

If you wish to speak to me or send a message contact my lawyer. 

D.

Wally called his wife on the phone and left a long message. This would be the death of his political career. He called his ex-wife, he called his eldest son, he called his daughter. He even called his elderly mother.

None of them answered.

Two weeks later when his naked bloated body was found floating in his swimming pool the police asked his staff, his neighbors, and his family, why nobody had called to report him missing.

They all had the same reply.

It was none of my concern.

~ end

 

 

 

 

 

 

We’re more like you than they are.

As Vampires we can genuinely say we are like you, or that we were once like you. We live in your neighborhoods. Our kids go to school with yours. We see you late at night at the liquor store. We say hello to you as we walk our dogs. You don’t know we’re Vampires, but we’re there, cold and comforting, as your neighbors and friends.

I bring this up because all over the country, both locally and nationally, humans are running for various political offices. On every level it is a regular haunted house, mixed with the most disturbing of freak shows. Where is Peter Cushing? We need him to come in as Van Helsing and save the day. OK maybe that was a bad example, considering I’m talking about why you are more like me (a Vampire), than say, the creatures running for President (and other offices.)

Unlike most people you know these people running for office speak in shouting voices. They spew insults. They drone on like backwoods preachers with rattle snakes and the fear of God in their souls. But even the most in touch politician talks in that weird way. I don’t get it. Ted Talk speakers don’t yell that way. When you go to hear your favorite author, college professor, or even business leaders talk – they don’t speak that way.

Some among those running for office, and their families have faces like slick death masks frozen with Botox and fillers. Kristen Stewart showed more expression in Twilight than these odd-looking beings who fear their faces will crack if they laugh or have a genuine smile. At least the actress who played Bella (who loved the creepy sparkly Vampire) can smile a like a normal human.

“I might be undead,” said my friend Jayne, “but at least I don’t look embalmed.”

From local to national politics I’d like to see them all wear masks at their debates like the Twilight Zone episode. At the end of the debate they all remove their masks and we’ll see who keeps his own face and who resembles the horrific mask he hides behind.

Those who run for office and their spouses beg for privacy, but they shout “look at me, look at me.” Like little children they get angry when you miss one of their tricks, and fail to clap and shower them with excited praise.

Some of them are like the half-grown boy who yells, “watch this” as he jumps off the cliff and breaks his neck. It amazes me that some of them fail to think about the fact that they are in the public eye, then they give us the best deer-in-the-headlights look when they’re caught behaving badly.

How often than not are they taking money that isn’t theirs to take. How often is one cheating on a spouse, or taking advantage of a young man or woman – all the while talking loudly of high morals, God, and family values.

There are so many ways they aren’t like real people. They’re weird and creepy in ways even Vampires can’t imagine.

They don’t drive. Seriously, a lot of them never drive.

They’re obsessed with the sex lives of others.

They’re obsessed with where people pee.

They’re obsessed with a brand of religion that most people don’t relate to.

None of them run down to Safeway late at night because they forgot to pick up cat food. Nor do they get excited about new lip gloss from Target with their teens. Do they talk with their teens? Do they really?

Their kids don’t drive the beat up old family car that mom finally traded in for something nice.

They can’t just chill on the deck with a glass of wine and a few good friends, and not talk about work or politics.

They don’t drag their garbage cans out to the street once a week, and stop to talk to their neighbors about why the dog is wearing a cone of shame.

The don’t clean out their own gutters when it rains, or shovel their own snow, or scrape ice off of those cars they don’t drive on cold mornings.

They don’t stay up late at night worrying about their adult kids who can’t find jobs, and their elderly parents who can’t take care of themselves anymore.

They don’t know how we live.

They are so far removed from reality that…well, you have more in common with a Vampire. At least we remember what it was like to be real, and for the most part we live more like you, more genuine and real, than they do.

Yes, so many politicians went to private schools and are insanely wealthy, but this isn’t about money. Bill Gates is richer than all of them but he knows how you live. If you had a beer with him he would seem like a real guy (I’m going to assume, I’ve seen him speak a couple of times.) But you know where I’m going with this. The cult of personality has taken over the wisdom of true leaders. Special interests have taken over everything. Huge egos enter the room like dinosaurs who are loud, but not of our time. They speak of a past that doesn’t exist. Even dinosaurs knew better, even with their small reptilian brains.

By the way, did I mention that Zombies are afraid of them?

At lease we (Vampire) know what we are. At least we’re honest about it.

A Vampire will never tell you to be afraid, then point the finger to someone who is not like you.

A Vampire will never betray you.

A Vampire will always appreciate the blood they take, and contrary to popular belief, most Vampires will never drain every drop of blood from your body. Find a politician who will want to leave you a drop of blood.

And Vampires care. You don’t have to vote for us to get our love. We love you just as your are. Really, we do.

We’re more like you than they are.

 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman