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Sort of a fairy tale

By Iris Fluellen

Official White House Photo by Lawrence Jackson


A toxic pall had befallen the land, creating a miasma of despair for those who  questioned the absurdity of it all.  Like the line from that old Talking Heads song, “How did we get here?”


Every morning, the good people would awaken from their slumber, stumble out of bed, make their tea, drink their coffee, eat their cereal, eggs or oatmeal safely in their houses before venturing out into the chaos of another surreal day into the land they thought they knew, but realized, alas, that had been a mere illusion.  An illusion of what, you might dare ask?  An illusion of freedom or justice for all.  There had never really been justice for all.  In fact there had only been justice, freedom for the very few, anointed by themselves, but until the darkness, many of the masses believed in the promised land.  These unsuspecting folk held the naïve belief that all was good.


Well maybe not all was good, but a lot of it was because of the prince, his beautiful wife and wonderful daughters who had graced the masses with their presence, their style, charisma and intellect.  Oh the intellect!  His intellect had led them to wrongly believe that much was good about the land and that the future was bright for all.


And then, in an instant, the fine prince was gone due to the unfortunate circumstance of something called “term limits.” And then many believed the prince was going to be replaced by, lo and behold, a woman!  A very smart woman.  But this was not to be, because you see the smart woman had a lot of baggage, and many of the masses assumed that even with her baggage the smart woman would continue to lead them forward, maybe not into the light, but toward it.


But there were sinister forces lurking in places many were unprepared for, and dear reader, many people didn’t like the smart woman for a variety of reasons and lets face it, the nerdy girl is never popular, no matter how smart.  In fact, being smart was held against her.


So instead, the swamp people arose from the pods where they had been laying low for many years, centuries in fact.  They arose to crush the nerdy girl, smart woman, to reject the prince, who by the way, had dark skin. This had sent many of the swamp people into a tizzy. “We’ll show you!” they cried as they slithered on their bellies to vote for one of their own vowing to take back the land they thought had been lost to them.


In their quiet rage, they snuffed out the light, the hope by foisting on the unsuspecting masses, a creature so orange, so heinous, so gruesome, so intellectually and morally bankrupt that the people who thought this nightmare would never occur were left in a punch-drunk state.  “How did we get here?” was the anguished cry heard over many parts of the land.


After they began to come to, the masses stopped to ponder how this had occurred, beginning to regroup, reassess their plight, shaking off the ongoing bleakness while slowly moving forward to bring the land back into the light with the understanding that much work still needed to be done.




About the writer

Iris Fluellen is a Bay Area native and San Francisco resident whose claim to fame is she has lived in the 415 area code her entire life.
In addition to her commitment to philanthropy, she is a strong believer in the arts being the catalyst to touch the creative spirit that lies within all of us. In her spare time, Iris writes about her observations about politics and relationships between the sexes. Movies, reading, cooking, traveling and taking dance clasese are almost as important to her as her two cats, Carrie and Samantha.


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