Male. 30+. 231 words. Douglas: “Cruelty.” From Charades.

By Paul Pasulka

Why do I do it? Boredom, I guess. Seems like only cruelty alleviates that, if only temporarily. I created this mess, got it into shape, but it’s so unresponsive.  I mean, the sun, the moon, the oceans, sure, but they’re pretty much self-regulating. Animals, too. But humans? You actually started doing ‘your own thing’. Well, I  couldn’t have that. And you, young man. You thought you could escape your fate, like Jonah? Kill yourself? Fall into a chasm and be forgotten - by me? No. I am the whale. I am the chasm. I am the lion. I swallow you. I spit you out. I swallow you again. I wonder, how many times have we played at this? You know, I don’t remember.  I don’t even remember your original name.

Not that it matters, really. I mean, whether it’s Mark or Helmuth or Mary Fay - it’s life. And death. Your innocence, your terror, your dying prayers - they are all so - well amusing. I can’t tell you how proud I am that I created an organism so simply complex. So delusionally hopeful to the very end. Why, one time you even tried to talk to the lion - to reason with it. Like it was some Billy Goat Gruff story. You almost moved me. (He fake sniffles). Oh, and I do so love the pleading. The admission of abject helplessness.

We’ve done this so many times you’d think I’d be bored, but somehow I never seem to run out of ideas. Amazing - I really am. But now I’m tired of talking. On with the Charade.