A Prophet's Tale: A Collection Of Short Stories From A Twisted Mind

Hidden Secrets

"Breaking News! Prime Minister Robert Gould has liked child pornography on his Twitter account, which subsequently appeared on his feed at 01:30 am this morning." The news broadcast, hosted by the newly promoted Vera Salminol, blared out of the television sets where at least one thousand politicians, media representatives and public officials were fixated on the screens with their jaws dropped as the sound echoed throughout the now desolate hallways of Parliament House. "Investigation is underway by the Canberra Police Force, however, at this point in time the post has not been taken down, nor has a statement from the Prime Minister or his representatives been released," the ashamed voice of Salminol continued, "We, here at Channel 21 News, suspect, however, that the residents of The Lodge will be in an extreme panic. How can a Prime Minister of a country that is meant to stand for justice, freedom, and equality expect to act like this?"

The halls of The Lodge were silent. No noise could be found, as Robert Gould carefully squiggled out from the arm of his wife, removed himself from their bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. As he quietly slipped on the gift that he received last night for his birthday, he wondered how Kmart is able to make these slippers so soft and irritating at the same time. Robert tiptoed to his closet and picked out his fanciest silk robe, for as he thought, he deserved the luxury. Only a slight creak was heard from the bedroom door as he slowly pulled it shut behind him and once completed took the sock off the door handle, which the action of aroused a huge grin on his experienced face. Pulling out his iPod Nano from his robe pocket, which in his eyes made him technologically advanced beyond human comprehension, he attached his black wired earphones and blasted his favourite song, 'Hidden Secrets' by Capleton. Feeling an extreme of joy, Robert decided that he was a talented dancer and in embracing his new role, he placed a smile upon himself and he boogied down to the kitchen in a dance that would make Billy Elliot ashamed of himself. As he passed the bleak wallpaper of the hallway, which was filled by portraits of those in his position who preceded him, Robert slid across the green carpet. While doing this, he passed Mr Fort, his personal assistant who tried to wave him down. As his hand made its way over his head, his wide-eyed face seemed to possess a sense of urgency to them. The words that were apparently coming from his mouth were not able to be heard by Robert, whose Reggae beat was influencing his approach and drowning out his surroundings. Robert, choosing that today was going to be a great day, screamed at Fort that he would catch up with him later. Nothing was going to stop this leader from his hash browns.

Entering the car, the suited up Prime Minister, still blasting the sweet beats of Capleton in his ears, noted that there was an increase in supporters/protestors/media, the difference between which he could decipher anymore, outside his residence. He was never the most popular PM, with his response to such matters as Global Warming, Asylum Seekers and Terrorism being praised and his policies on Tax, Public Transport and Internet Usage being heavily criticised. The drive to Parliament House was a typical one. If Robert was to say anything bad about it, it would be that the traffic into the House itself was stronger than usual. As per usual, his radio was turned off as the noise distracted him from driving, as at his age it was getting more and more difficult to hear his surroundings. As he exited the car, however, his good mood drastically changed, as people, who as Robert observed were acting less like humans and more like rabid dogs spitting at him, outside the building were being held back by security guards, who seemed as though, for a reason which Robert could not decipher, they wanted to let the pack of animals release upon him and rip him to shreds. As Robert placed his right foot upon the waxed grey floor of his place of employment, Robert witnessed as non-stop hallways full of politicians and company running around like Speedy Gonzalez from that show he watched with his grandson last week, stopped in their tracks and placing him into a situation where his every move was being watched by a thousand of fixated eyes. "EVERYONE GET BACK. ROBERT COME WITH ME!" The shout of Shada Glutton dispersed the entire crowd and as soon as they stopped the entire building started moving again. The silk of the Leader of Opposition that just saved him's jacket rubbed against that of his own and he was escorted him to the office of his rival. "What is this all about?" Shada balled up his fist and his eyes closed as he chanted to himself the meditation phrase that the speaker at an anger management class taught them a few months ago. "I was wondering you could tell me." Robert's reply seemed to frustrate his saviour even more. "How could you?" Robert's eyebrow was raised by the question Shada posed to him. He was more confused than he had ever been before. "What? What are you getting at Shada? Why is everyone so angry at me this morning?" This series of questions was not meant to be rhetorical but Shada seemed to take it that war, as no reply was given and instead a phone was handed to Robert's shrivelled hand. As Robert raised the screen to his aged eyes after, of course, he retrieved his glasses from his pocket and placed them on his large nose. As the words on the screen registered with his brain, all thoughts exited his mind and his hand started to uncontrollably shake. His blank mind couldn't comprehend what he had seen. His legs became weak, his mouth dry and his palms began to sweat. The phone, already being loosely held, slipped through the salty moisture on his skin and cracked as the corner connected with the marble floor. Starting to lean over, Shada placed his arm over Robert and helped him to a chair. "I think that you should retire."

"I can't. I was elected. I was the choice of the people."

"Don't be like that Robert."

"Be like what?"

"A country should not be run by a man like you"

"Shada please"

"No Robert. No. I'm talking to you not because I want to. God knows I don't what to, but I'm doing it as a courtesy. Your position is gone like it or not."