Read Online Dark Tales Of Lost Civilizations by Eric J. Guignard (Editor) - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eric J. Guignard (Editor)
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stranger than fiction.
This is not how I was supposed to die, not me, not a good, strong woman doing the best she can to set the world right. And it was not my time! I was not ready; I was not done. No, I died before my time. It’s not fair. But then again, what in all the land of Oz ever truly is fair?
I pictured my death much differently. I was old—truly old, ancient—enfeebled. I am in my bed. A wizened doctor, nearly as old as I, is nearby, but there is little he can do. Time, that great enemy and friend, has finally caught up to me. It is no matter. I am surrounded by the ones I love. Oh yes, I can love. My heart is not so hard as to excuse the possibility of love. I knew there would be a man someday. A man whose values agreed with mine, who saw the world as I see it. Flawed. Fractured. In need of structure, in need of discipline. He would help me to implement order, to bring stability to chaos. We would wed, and have children—two, both sons—and by the time of my death there would be great-great grandchildren, and me, the old matriarch of the clan, respected, revered and feared, as truly old women often are. But there would be love, the proper kind demonstrated in the proper manner, and they would sit by my side, my sons closest, then their wives, and children, and so on in this manner. There would be no disappointments, at least none allowed in my presence; a proper family, educated, brought up in the right manner. Something to be proud of. A legacy. Someone would hold my hand. I would go quietly, though not peacefully. Still, I would not prolong the event. It would not be proper to rage against time and nature in such a manner. All things must end, but only in their time.
Oh, I know what you say. What man would love me, me, a witch, ugly and bent as I am, black in my heart and soul? You believe the lies they tell in the Munchkin villages. You believe I am what they say I am. It puzzles me why their word is always believed over mine. My word is as inviolate as anyone else’s; my family is storied and has long, noble roots in this land. They are nothing more than mere peasants, plain folk villagers. They have no education, no culture. They need us to help them, to civilize them. That is all I have done. Yes, I have imposed rules. The rule of law, the rule of order. What government does not? Show me a government that allows chaos and I will show you a government that will soon fall. It is the very job and duty of government to impose order. And I am that government here.
My rules are not so strange, so different. They are—quite reasonable, if you look at them from the proper perspective. These folks, these munchkins—why, left to their own devices, they drink, they carouse, they row in the streets. What’s that you say? Let them rule themselves? They are not fit for such duty. They are not fit for much of anything, to be honest, not even good manual labor, small as they are, though dozens do work in my castle. They can clean, see to animals, lift small loads. They are like donkeys, and make good pack animals, given the proper training and incentive. On their own, they are wild. They lack breeding. They lack manners. They indulge in the most terrible of behaviors. Why, did you know they actually have guilds dedicated to sweets? Sugar will rot their teeth, and hardly represents a nutritious diet. Restrictions must be put in place, for the benefit of the people themselves. I have only their interests at heart.
Oh, do not be put off by their childlike appearances. They would drink (something fierce!) had I not prohibited liquor. They would fornicate in the streets like dogs if they had their druthers. Laws must be passed and so they were. And who could argue that things are not better? There is order now, there is discipline. They work and do as they are told. How is that not better for everyone?
What’s that? Yes, I closed the newspaper office. Yes, the libraries too. Why? Well, that must be obvious. Too
This is not how I was supposed to die, not me, not a good, strong woman doing the best she can to set the world right. And it was not my time! I was not ready; I was not done. No, I died before my time. It’s not fair. But then again, what in all the land of Oz ever truly is fair?
I pictured my death much differently. I was old—truly old, ancient—enfeebled. I am in my bed. A wizened doctor, nearly as old as I, is nearby, but there is little he can do. Time, that great enemy and friend, has finally caught up to me. It is no matter. I am surrounded by the ones I love. Oh yes, I can love. My heart is not so hard as to excuse the possibility of love. I knew there would be a man someday. A man whose values agreed with mine, who saw the world as I see it. Flawed. Fractured. In need of structure, in need of discipline. He would help me to implement order, to bring stability to chaos. We would wed, and have children—two, both sons—and by the time of my death there would be great-great grandchildren, and me, the old matriarch of the clan, respected, revered and feared, as truly old women often are. But there would be love, the proper kind demonstrated in the proper manner, and they would sit by my side, my sons closest, then their wives, and children, and so on in this manner. There would be no disappointments, at least none allowed in my presence; a proper family, educated, brought up in the right manner. Something to be proud of. A legacy. Someone would hold my hand. I would go quietly, though not peacefully. Still, I would not prolong the event. It would not be proper to rage against time and nature in such a manner. All things must end, but only in their time.
Oh, I know what you say. What man would love me, me, a witch, ugly and bent as I am, black in my heart and soul? You believe the lies they tell in the Munchkin villages. You believe I am what they say I am. It puzzles me why their word is always believed over mine. My word is as inviolate as anyone else’s; my family is storied and has long, noble roots in this land. They are nothing more than mere peasants, plain folk villagers. They have no education, no culture. They need us to help them, to civilize them. That is all I have done. Yes, I have imposed rules. The rule of law, the rule of order. What government does not? Show me a government that allows chaos and I will show you a government that will soon fall. It is the very job and duty of government to impose order. And I am that government here.
My rules are not so strange, so different. They are—quite reasonable, if you look at them from the proper perspective. These folks, these munchkins—why, left to their own devices, they drink, they carouse, they row in the streets. What’s that you say? Let them rule themselves? They are not fit for such duty. They are not fit for much of anything, to be honest, not even good manual labor, small as they are, though dozens do work in my castle. They can clean, see to animals, lift small loads. They are like donkeys, and make good pack animals, given the proper training and incentive. On their own, they are wild. They lack breeding. They lack manners. They indulge in the most terrible of behaviors. Why, did you know they actually have guilds dedicated to sweets? Sugar will rot their teeth, and hardly represents a nutritious diet. Restrictions must be put in place, for the benefit of the people themselves. I have only their interests at heart.
Oh, do not be put off by their childlike appearances. They would drink (something fierce!) had I not prohibited liquor. They would fornicate in the streets like dogs if they had their druthers. Laws must be passed and so they were. And who could argue that things are not better? There is order now, there is discipline. They work and do as they are told. How is that not better for everyone?
What’s that? Yes, I closed the newspaper office. Yes, the libraries too. Why? Well, that must be obvious. Too
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