Your head throbs. The cat tromps loudly across the carpet, each footstep setting up drum-like reverberations directly on your medulla oblongata...
Perhaps you were able to liberate yourself from this depression before you went to bed,
Six or seven quick ones seemed to help at the time. Maybe it was eight...
but you are unsure when sleep knocked at your door, and took you to the world of the subconscious.
Maybe it was the gin... Or the muscatel...
All you remember is President Muammar Qadaffy's outburst of outlandish, insane statements, pouring out from the television screen.
His lips were moving. Words came out, but they made no sense. And that was before you starting drinking heavily...
In his delusion, Qadaffy seemed positive that Libya, during his era, was at the forefront of the world's largest continents: Africa, Asia, and Latin America.
"I hereby declare us a continent," he said. You heard it. And that was before you rolled your first joint of the evening...
He also claimed to be the "King of Kings" for all Africa.
Suddenly you remember his saying that. It had slipped your mind as consciousness departed at almost the same time. It almost seemed to make sense at the time. Or maybe it was just more logical than some of the other things he said. Most of them, in fact...
Certainly, you need not care what happens to such a man, who is now just eating sour grapes, but you must bear a sense of sorrow for his offspring.
Sorrow. That was it. Abject sorrow. That was what set you off on the crying jag...
Indeed, Qadaffy's sons; Saif al-Islam, Mohammed, al-Saadi, Hannibal and Motasem, as well as his daughter Aisha, must be aware of the troublesome destiny awaiting them.
"Oh, hold me, Hannibal!"
Their sense of family loyalty means they have to cling onto a sinking ship, even though they see others donning life jackets, having once been associates of the "King of Kings", leaving the man who ate sour grapes to meet his destiny alone.
You remember the salt taste of the tears, how they flowed down your cheeks, dripping off the end of your chin. And how your ribs hurt from laughing so hard...
Over many decades,
Colonel Muammar Qadaffy... dictator of Libya since 1969. From 1972, when he relinquished the title of prime minister, he has been accorded the honorifics
Guide of the First of September Great Revolution of the Socialist People's Libyan Arab Jamahiriyaor
Brotherly Leader and Guide of the Revolution. With the death of Omar Bongo of Gabon on 8 June 2009, he became the longest serving of all current non-royal national leaders. He is also the longest-serving ruler of Libya since Tripoli became an Ottoman province in 1551. When Chairman Mao was all the rage and millions of people were flashing his Little Red Book, Qadaffy came out with his own Little Green Book, which didn't do as well. Qadaffy's instability has been an inspiration to the Arab world and to Africa, which he would like to rule...
lived through numerous adventures and conspiracies, thus prompting him to adopt the psychological theory of "kill or be killed", as a means of living.
You remember how you never really understood him until you took up mescaline. If you sucked down about a gram, and then you poured a couple shots down the hatch suddenly he made sense. It was all crystal clear. And then you'd start to float away, like a Macy's parade balloon, only with hiccups...
Such logic is natural for those who live in a game of murderers and victims. I still remember a former official, who had worked in an authoritarian regime, saying: "You are only disturbed by the first murder; the first corpse is both worrying and upsetting.
That first shot makes you shudder. Your gullet tells you 'I'm not really swallowing this, am I?'
Afterwards, you must decide whether to carry on with the game or get out. To exit would effectively mean retirement, and living in the shadows, but to continue means that you are running the risk of being a corpse yourself."
The second shot goes down easier, and the third's a snap. By the time the bartender switches bottles on you and you're swallowing stuff he gets at $2 a quart you don't even notice, at least not until the next morning. Assuming there's a next morning...
It is certain that Muammar Qadaffy must have - many years ago - chosen to carry on with the game, despite the risks and gambles involved. However,
The infamous
However...
did his sons choose to participate in this game?
"Daddy," the little boy said, "can I kill somebody?"
Or were they forced to do so?
[Slap!] "I said to [BLAM!] pull the trigger, y'little brat!!"
Very likely, they are the victims of their education, which has been ingrained into their mentality. Qadaffy was consumed by his delusions, in a style similar to Don
"Michael!"
"Yes, Pop?"
"Tell the bartender to pour us some more muscatel! Set 'em up all around!"
Now, they find themselves in the final chapter, with the conclusion imminent, but in a manner contrary to what had previously been told. After the tale comes to an end, they will be alone facing their reality, as everyone else will have gone their own way.
"Stop hogging the Drano, Aisha!"