The Fates And The Sword Of Damocles.

I used to rule the world. My world, at least. You remember that cartoon that you would watch when you were young with the dancing mushrooms and the ice fairies and waltzing hippos and alligators and Micky Mouse as the magician? Fantasia, I think it was. Remember how seas would rise when that anthropomorphic rodent gave the word? A simple motion of the hand. Do you remember at the end of that ludicrous segment when the mouse had to pick up the pieces of what he'd done?

Every man is his own god. God is dead. I am my own god. Excuse me. I was my own god.

One minute, I held the key to life itself. The wicked and wild wind. The winds of change. They blew everything familiar apart. Like a depth charge. You can't argue with something that works in your favor, can you? People could not believe what I had become.

They call you Lady Luck, but there is room for doubt. Sometimes you have a very unladylike way of running out.

One minute, I held the key. The next, the walls had collapsed. I discovered that my kingdom stood upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand. Everything came crashing down.

I need you to be my sword and shield. I need you to defend me and fight for me, because I cannot do it myself. I need you to be my mirror. I cannot tell what is right and what is wrong anymore. I need you to show me.

There are those who wait to put my head on a silver platter. I am just a sole survivor. A marionette dangling on a single string. Oh, who would ever want to be God?

I believe there is a term for this. The sword of Damocles. You see, Damocles had no control over his life. He was simply a courtier, nothing of significance. After exclaiming that the king was very fortunate and expressing his jealousy of his wealth, the king offered to switch places for a day. Damocles gladly obliged. During dinner, he greatly enjoyed being treated as a king. However, halfway through the meal, Damocles happened to glance up, noticing a sharpened sword suspended by a single strand dangling above his head. Immediately, he requested to leave his temporary term as king.


You see, Damocles discovered that being in a position of power is not all it's cracked up to be. There are senses of impending doom, noticeable or otherwise. In the end, though, it comes back to bite you in the ass. If only I had learned this sooner.

There is never an honest word spoken. Lies. The lot of them. I have to save my hide. I was safe for a while. But that was when I ruled my world.

For some reason I cannot explain, I know St. Peter won't speak my name. My time grows short. And even though I have escaped the sword of Damocles, the Fates are still in possession of my life-thread.

And will they cut it with a pair of scissors? Oh no. That would be too kind.

The sword of Damocles is only fitting.