May 05, 2009 10:54
t’s constant, a barrage of request, questions, demands and dates, never ending, never slowing, just a steady pace that only ever seems to come even faster.
hospital opening, new commercial, “One question Miss Defoe-“ record deals and album releases…
She handles it like always, a wane smile and a nod. It was not as if she had a choice, she chose to be here, to do this. Every day her moment was ordered and organized, and perhaps, by chance Mag might have a minute of her own before she finally slept at night.
She gave out her orders, for her opera- Rotti’s opera, a mere puppet of his whims.
“no, we need this selection, please return that to the dressers, who is this even to be…”
It was her small kingdom, fiefdom in all that GenCo had built, had become and she was queen. All knew this and respected her for it, even if she always had his hand on her back, arm, elbow, guiding her towards his eventual means and ends to the goal. His goals.
In those moments though, before slumber, that she claimed her own life, her own choice, even if all she had was when she finally closed her eyes.
His eyes.
Blind Mag
Repo The Genetic Opera
206
comm: charloft,
who: rotti,
when: post funeral