The Blue Fairy

He was still choosing the color of his leather jacket when, in the throes of a hysterical attack, he decided that it really wasn't possible that these guys down here were making all this constant noise! And then, looking in the mirror, how on earth can you wear pants like that!? Outside we could hear the roars of the crowd awaiting his exit on the balcony of the villa and fearing that they might damage the eighteenth-century statues that he had had covered in fuchsia colors and glitter. He ran to the computer and posted an online poll to choose the best color.
Meanwhile on the bedside table his pistol shone freshly polished; he took it and dived onto the sofa and started shooting at the chandelier: the moment had not yet come to transform himself into a lounge dog, protected by safe walls, wagging his tail on the carpet and lying lazily in front of the lit fireplace. He thought he still had time before he stopped and whimpered on his stomach stretched out on improbable Kars carpets, kilims of faux-ethnic multinationals, lying on the ground within reach of the lapilli and sternly observed by stuffed leopards, killed in domestic safaris.
But the fun didn't last long. He hadn't even reached the third knock before the roar of the door announced the subsequent hoarse shouts.
«Three percentage points. Three percentage points! THREE PERCENTAGE POINTS! Damn Christ!'
"What do you want to say? Eh, what do you want me to know? I'm killing myself with bullshit written all the time. What should I do: kill myself in the square?”
«It certainly wouldn't be bad. So I'll get you out of the way and give the world a gift. Meanwhile, while you count your dick hairs, those others grow up and become guests of TV programmes"
«What shit do people have in their heads? First they're all down here acting like monkeys and then they change their minds because someone tells them some bullshit?"
«It's us – goddammit – talking nonsense: it's US! – took the gun out of his hands and pointed it at the back of his head – Do you want to get it into your head once and for all that we must tell the whole story and only we must have the right to tell the whole story!?»
He was unarmed, white as mozzarella and without even a drop of sweat inside that could wet his face a little.
Meanwhile, the survey participants veered towards figures that would make the flesh cripple: the favorite color was purple.
One of the secretaries came in to tell him that his group's shares were going downhill and that the prosecutor's office had to arrest the CEO and - he feared - this time there was no way to blame anyone else.
But she found him kneeling on the white fur carpet with snot dripping from his nose and his white face whiter than the carpet. She ran towards him and took his cheeks in her hands to understand what was happening to him, but he suddenly stood up, slapping her twice in the face and began blaspheming every saint and most holy man who came within range. He stopped for a moment, took a breath and walked towards her, stretching out his hands on her to turn her around and lift her skirt. He no longer wore his underwear; he knew that he had to take them off every three or two.
He fucked like a cricket connected to high voltage: he seemed possessed. But, luckily, it didn't take him long to finish (if he could) and then he left her alone.
He went back to the computer: it was time for the live stream. There was a specially set up corner with a bookcase behind it which contained various types of objects mostly depicting gallows with hanging ropes, fake shits, the green wooden dollar sign with caricatures of various political figures and bankers.
«Are you wasting your time, eh, my citizens? You're having a great time today with your sluts around the house! Those fagots of the “ruling class”… oh oh oh hear how good this word sounds: “the ruling class”! ahah… but they should direct this shit! – and stood up gesturing with his hand clutching his genitals -; These fagots want to bust your ass for work while they stay in the luxury hotels getting their ass busted by those niggas with AIDS!”
Meanwhile outside we could hear a continuous roar of noises and shouts: it was like being in the jungle. He felt like taking his rifle and shooting around the garden for a while, aiming at those ibexes that he had gotten as a gift after the famous blackmail of the magistrate and which were becoming really beautiful.
«Those poachers do nothing but go after your pockets to have fun while you work. But we will send them all away! Everyone go! Everyone!.
«But do you understand that life is a storm, and taking it in the ass is a flash of lightning? Do you understand it? Banks ask you for money and trust, but they tie the ballpoint pen to a chain! Then, politics, politics! POLITICS: here, one Italian is enough to make a Latin lover, two Italians are a mess, three Italians make four parties! And the banks are wasting it, my citizens, they are squandering it! And how they waste it!
«This is what the Puttanieri Fathers do, those who have on their shoulders the greatest robbery against the young generations. But we have our program and it is coherent, if some idiot expects the usual behavior of rotten politics he is wrong; shit has to stay together in the gutter!”
Poof, as soon as the spotlights went out, BOOM!, the door again and the shouts.
«What the fuck are you doing, Jesus Christ, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! But do you want to say two words to her that will make us grow? Do you want to tell her?!"
«But I did everything you told me: I disgraced my enemies by making them seem responsible for everything. What's wrong?"
"What's wrong? What's wrong?! But everything, my idiot! All! All! You make speeches that, when they aren't rambling, are too difficult. People don't see the pattern clearly. He starts asking questions, criticizing and then asking and demanding and we're screwed. The scheme must be easy and clear: all the bad on one side, the good on the other. As in the Tanken novels: the dragons and giants starve the people; the Sloppers are the only asset that can save them; the king rules wisely and without protest or complaint. It's simple, you idiot, it's simple: learn."
The secretary arrives again with the written speech he has to recite from the balcony. She turns around, lifts her skirt leaning on the table and gets banged directly without waiting for him to force it. Meanwhile he explains to him what he has to say.
He hadn't finished yet when a circus gang of dwarfs, fagots and dancers came in to paint his face with make-up and creams, curlers, fabrics, colors and anything else indefinable. Half an hour of work with ten people to give him a suitable face.
«They told us that the windows and doors were bricked up. That there was no exit – he begins as soon as he looks out from the balcony – Then we heard a flow of words and thoughts coming from who knows where – uhhhhh a deafening roar of screams and cries – From outside. From inside. From the Internet, from the squares. They were words of war - the roar increases, the cries become louder, the screams rise, someone plays the saxophone - Our friends kept these doors closed to us, they didn't want to let us in. they were afraid of us, that we would take their privileges. We sent them to fuck off, guys! Fuck your ass! Fuck you! – the noises overwhelm everything, the screams seem like a single fuck you directed at the whole world, even the sax seems to play a fuck you – We used these words like torches in the dark, like battle axes against them, the enemies of the people! And now we're outside, we've stepped out into the light, and we're not quite used to it yet. – the whole crowd puts their hands on their faces and pretends to cover their eyes – We narrow our eyes and, even if we know that we are taking the only possible path, we have some fears, and it is normal. It is extraordinary: the citizen who becomes the State. We understood that we were that closed door, that the warrior words had been inside us for a long time, but they didn't want to come out, we thought we were alone and instead we were a multitude. And now we are surprised that so many people completely unknown to us had the same thoughts as us, we shared warrior words, powerful weapons that we used to change everything, to overturn an artificial reality. Warrior words with a new and at the same time ancient sound spread like a thunder wave and arrived everywhere, destroying the old politics. We have become aware of reality." The universal chorus, the cries, the sax, the fucks, ... everything seemed to accompany the retreat into the house of the supreme opinion leader, the only bearer of every right thought. The voices seemed like a single enormous belch addressed to the world, a fart for good digestion, the belly of the average man who saw justice in his reasons.
As soon as the doors closed, the crowd roaring with joy, enthusiasm and vented anger divided into two groups: on one side those belonging to generation 1.0 who were heading towards a neo-melodic concert with dancing agé attached; on the other, 2.0 with electronic concert and DJ set plus cocktail bar. We don't know where the saxophone ended up.
It was all a rainbow of light that spoke from that villa in the country to the country.
But although the tum tum tum from outside was muffled in the room, the noise was still unbearable. As soon as he dived onto the sofa and picked up the gun, the secretary returned.
«Oh, dirty uncle! But today is never enough for you!"
«Actually I just wanted to update you on the latest events regarding arrests and financial scandals»
"Turn around, go!"
Once the service was over, he got back on the sofa and started shooting at the chandelier again. He was really unwell: not being able to go on a hunting safari in the garden today, because of those scoundrels, really put him in a bad mood.
BUUUUM!
«You are an idiot, an emeritus idiot! “Democratic Report Card” made an analysis of your statements yesterday: you spat out a shit load of data that was all wrong and now everyone is marching on it. We have to invent a conspiracy: justify ourselves and throw everything into confusion and get that mass of idiots to line up: those who are with us and those who are with the elite!"
He slammed the door in his face and left him on the couch with the gun in his hand. He began to stare at the stuffed jaguars that stood near the wall surrounded by bamboo canes and an ethnic faux wood parapet.
He was frothing at the mouth, he was very white. He put the gun between his lips and started fiddling. At a certain point he got up and started running shouting like a tribal warrior towards the door he had just slammed in his face. As he opened it he saw the other man in his underwear with a towel over his shoulders sitting on a machine all black and interlocking irons intent on lifting weights to tone up his now irremediable sagging body. He was about to point the gun at him and shoot when the latter, already ready and shrewd, threw a 45 kilo weight at him which made him fall to the ground suddenly and fire a shot towards the ceiling.
All the secretaries came running from the nearby rooms and, seeing the scene, they immediately made a film of what had happened and didn't even say a word. Also because in front of them, looking at them, they had someone who wasn't exactly that sweet of salt.
«You moron! – he shouted at him, getting up – What a moron you are! You can't die on me now, you idiot, you idiotic idiot, I need you too much to realize the big project, the dream I've been carrying in my womb all my life. Wake up! Wake up!"
«Call our doctors! Call the doctors!" he shouted at those little people who were standing there motionless without saying a word.
And the doctors arrived immediately, one after the other: that is, one who looked like a crow arrived, the other an owl and the other the Talking Cricket straight out of Pinocchio.
«Tell me, if he is alive, tell me if he is alive! – shouted the one who really looked like the blue fairy with the long hair – let me know if he's dead or alive! »
At this invitation, the Crow, coming forward first, felt the pulse of the doll on the ground; then he felt his nose, his little toe; and when he had felt it carefully, he solemnly pronounced:
«In my opinion, it is as good as dead: the symptomatic principles of my analysis indicate that the complexity and placement of the workforce – speaking with the precision and determination of the new propositions – requires an epidemiological type of treatment with little hope of success»
«I'm sorry, said the Owl, to have to contradict my illustrious friend and colleague: for me, however, he is alive; let's not forget that the start of the general action of training attitudes plays an essential role in the formation of forms of action and therefore of immediate saving care"
"And what does she say?" the Fairy asked the Talking Cricket.
«It seems to me that we are here thinking of saving the republic by killing Caesar when we then open the way for Augustus. We should wire up a specific solution that allows us to overturn normal concepts of care with new solutions that speak a different language."
At this point we began to hear a muffled sound of gastro-intestinal regurgitation and indecipherable grunts.
The dead-alive still tried to take the gun but they immediately took it out of his hand. One of the secretaries came running in, babbling words of desperation.
It seems that a cyber invasion of trolls had destroyed their IT platform.
At a certain point it began to seem as if war had broken out. A continuous hammering on the doors and windows and terrible thuds coming from outside. The door nearby tore open as if it were made of tissue paper and an angry crowd entered the room «You scoundrels!», «Thieves!», «You have fooled us for a long time and now you are enjoying yourself in luxury», vomiting all the hatred on which she had blissfully nourished herself until now.
They massacred everything and everyone, even doctors and secretaries. The latter were first raped in turns. Only the ashes remained of the villa.