Dogs have masters. They are obedient. Who was, is Trunsky’s master? Whom does he serve? Then, a cog in the wheel of Crimwell and her machine, perhaps. Now, who is to conjecture. Crimwell was referred to by someone of prominence as the Antichrist, presuming a Christ. Her rise was nothing short of apocalyptic. For such conjuring to unfold as manoeuvred, though, a scapegoat was required. Enter Trunsky, at the devious behest of the Crimwell camp, again, perhaps, or in collusion with that camp, at the treacherous demand of another, or others. The Crimwell spouse plays a part as well, of course. He was, is the Good Dog; Trunsky, the Bad Dog, still.
I have raised horses, cows, sheep, goats, pigs, chickens, ducks, rabbits, dogs, and cats. I rode, trained, and worked the horses; the cows gave me milk; the sheep gave me wool; the goats, too, gave me milk; the chickens and the ducks gave me eggs; the rabbits, meat; the dogs and cats, companionship. The pigs gave me trouble. They were bullies. With tyrannical posturing, they behaved as though they owned the barn. Even the horses and the cows suffered their abuse. I killed only one chicken. It broke my heart. Thereafter, in exchange for my help on his farm four miles away, my nearest neighbour did the deed for me. The slaughter of the pigs, each in its natural time, though never done cruelly, was performed without the slightest pang of conscience.
Every astrological sign has its nemesis. Mine, as a Snake, a Water Snake, is the Pig. That of the Dragon is the Dog. This is fundamental.
When faced with two evils, I choose always, not the lesser of the two, but the one I have yet to experience. Dilemma only empowers my resolution.
There is nothing I like about Trunsky, but no Dog is born bad. Someone instructs him, urges him, in his bad behaviour. Someone behind the scenes is threatening punishment and offering reward. The worse Trunsky was perceived, the better Crimwell appeared. It is unlikely that she was the engineer of all this, but she was certainly complicit. It seems undeniable, indeed, that the whole thing was rigged. It stinks; and where there is stench, there is foulness. Though Trunsky is abhorrent, he is as he appears, he appears as he is. He is not a sheep in wolf’s clothing. He is a wolf. Crimwell’s entire persona was a contrivance, a miscalculation, or a lie.
In the Hunger Games, the character of Trunsky is played by Snow; the Crimwell character, by Coin. Katniss, the heroine, in the final scene of Mockingjay, decides to kill Coin rather than Snow. Snow was bad, to be sure, but he was Coin’s boy, Coin’s Dog.
The current story will not end happily ever after, though, like Hunger Games, with Katniss and Peeta remaining together, bearing two children, a girl and a boy. We have no hero or heroine here.
Everyone, of course, encouraged me to vote for Crimwell, or Trunsky would win. I am a rebǝl. I rebǝlled. What does that mean, here, now? May I not hope for a third choice, a real choice? There were but two choices. One of whom, Crimwell, was not a choice for me. The other – a Metal Snake, incidentally – owing to knotted insipidity of American politics, was not even in the race.
Needless to convey, I voted for my fellow Snake. Never did I waver. When presented with easy and difficult, I choose difficult. If anyone can have it, I don’t want it. If anyone can do it, I won’t do it. If everyone thinks it, I won’t think it. If everyone wants it, I won’t have it.
Evolution – revolution – deconstruction – construction…
Cease, to begin anew.