The Screenplay

ACT ONE

The time is today. The setting is a corporate-type office, extravagant and futuristic in styling and unlike anything we’ve seen before, yet it still feels gray. A middle-aged man, perfectly groomed to the point of looking artificial, is dressed casually in a white cashmere sweater that reeks of money and is sitting behind an oversized desk looking at a wristwatch, the likes of which you or I won’t find in any retail store. He pushes the intercom button on his tablet.

MAN: Please send Belial in.

A middle-school aged boy, disheveled in appearance yet expensively attired in black crew-neck and black jeans glides into the room carrying a Brady Bunch metal, retro lunch box. He sits across from the man, staring past him. His expression is blank; his face is pale.

BELIAL: Wadaya want? I’m late for school.

MAN: Relax Belial. You’re home-schooled. You can be late today. After all, today is your birthday, your 13th birthday… which is why you’re here. Today, we will have a talk; the same talk that has happened from father to son throughout our bloodline for the past two millenniums.

Belial stares at his lunch box, silent.

MAN: Belial, what I’m about to tell cannot be shared with anyone except our family… EVER. Can you agree to this?

Belial nods blankly.

MAN: I am a member of a small group of people called The Governance. In the simplest of terms, we own and rule the world, and we have done so for over 2,000 years. That is why, Belial, we’ve been able to do and buy anything and go anywhere we want, whenever and wherever we want. We in The Governance are the only people on this planet who are truly happy, and truly free. We own and control all governments, all major corporations, all media, all educational curriculums, and all religious leadership.

BELIAL: And what about everyone else on the planet?

MAN: They are an inconvenience, but are necessary to do the work that maintains the world, so that we, The Governance and our families, can enjoy it. Look at them as our service animals.

BELIAL: That’s so wrong. How can you even think this way?!

MAN: There is no right or wrong, no good or bad, Belial. These sentiments were invented along with religion, and conscience, and racism, and the illusion of a better life if you work hard, all for the purpose of keeping the service animals occupied, confused, overwhelmed, tired, suspicious of each other, and most of all, powerless. Haven’t you wondered why the government who is supposed to work for the people never actually does? It’s because the governments work for us. We give the service animals a few political parties and the illusion that they have a choice, when in reality their movements and capabilities are so restricted that they might as well be in cages.

BELIAL: This is sick. I’m feeling sick…

MAN: Look at it this way Son, the other people on the planet are like cows, and we in The Governance are the farmers who raise and harvest the cows. Remember the time we visited the slaughter houses, and the cows were lined up single-file for miles in the queue as they slowly zigzagged their way to their deaths? Now think about the times we’ve flown over the highways and turnpikes at rush-hour and saw the lines of cars all backed up, going nowhere. It’s the same thing: cows in the queue waiting for death. It just takes a little longer with people. In fact, we’re preparing to thin out the herd a bit. Our unprecedented government surveillance and capture of everyone’s personal information will pave the way for us to pass new laws that will make people begin to disappear.

BELIAL (looking paler than before): How many of you “farmers” are there, in this Governance?

MAN: Precisely one hundred. It has always been, and will always be, limited to one hundred. Don’t want to spread the wealth too much, now do we? … hahaha…

Staring into his lap, Belial opens his Brady Bunch lunch box, takes out a service revolver, and robotically shoots his father in the heart. The camera slowly zooms in on Belial’s face, which for the first time is beginning to show some color. The corners of his mouth slither into a grin, as an epiphany overcomes him. He looks into the camera and says, “We got 99 problems, but my Dad ain’t one.”

END OF ACT ONE

The Producer returns the screenplay to the coffee table. The Screen-Writer anxiously asks, “So… what do you think????”

The Producer sardonically replies, “C’mon Ricky, are you kidding me. No one’s gonna buy this crap. And a kid shooting his father in this day and age?! A kid named Belial yet! From the Basket Case movie?!”

The Screen-Writer begins to panic and pleads, “Please, just read Act Two before you make a decision.”

“I’m out of time. I have another appointment.” retorts the Producer. “And at this hour, the freeways are murder.”

THE END

Thank you for reading my blog. I hope you enjoyed my whimsical tale of fiction. If you found the subject matter interesting, or if like me, you tend to believe that nothing is as it seems, you might want to read the book “None Dare Call It Conspiracy” by Gary Allen published in 1972. There are people who believe that secret monarch societies like The Governance actually exist. Scanning Mr. Allen’s book was a chilling experience for me, as I compared his observations and research from 1972 to the world today. But then again, nothing is as it seems, haha. Until next time, peace, love, dove homies.

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