Conscience

“This article says that one in every twenty-five Americans has no conscience and can do whatever they want without experiencing guilt.”

“Listen to this,” China said, tapping his tablet a few times. “This article says that one in every twenty-five Americans has no conscience and can do whatever they want without experiencing guilt.”

“The animals,” North Korea spat. “No wonder they run around the streets slaughtering each other like it’s a sport.”

“What do you think, Korea? Do you have a conscience?”

“Of course I do,” he growled. “I’ve just never had to make use of it. One doesn’t need to feel guilty if one never does anything wrong.”

“Right, of course.”

North Korea carried on, not quite finished yet. “But I am sympathetic, maybe too much for my own good. Even you must understand that there’s a difference between guilt and pity.” He paused. “Well, what about you? No, don’t answer. I already know that you don’t have one. A conscience requires many things you so evidently lack: heart, soul, kindness, empathy–do you want me to go on? I can and I will.”

“But I have all of those things,” China said with an even tone.

North Korea lifted his nose and narrowed his eyes. “I hope you realize how scientifically flawed it is to insist that something exists without being able to prove it.”

“Should I or should I not go to your party?” China ventured.

North Korea hissed. “Fine, ruin the mood!” He scurried to the door, then stopped and turned back. “Listen, I don’t care what you do, and you know that I don’t. But you should come.” Those dark, spiteful eyes narrowed again. “For your sake.”


Notes

Photo by Hans via Pixabay

I wrote this on a whim after glancing at a book in the bookstore and since I had no intention of writing this until that very moment I also lacked the mental energy to draw something. I typed “conscience” into Pixabay and that’s the first thing I go so I said okay I’ll take it. It’s off brand but I am a lazy person.

Russia Stole My Girlfriend

Japan’s wristlet purse rattled all the way to the coffee bar.

“Double shot, please,” she told the machine.

It whirred to life and soon a steaming shot of bean water was filling a mug.

She fetched a pill pouch from her purse. It had to be holding at least a dozen different pills in all shapes and sizes–capsules, tablets, slick, some small and round, and others quite enormous and shiny.

She dumped the pills into her hand, popped them into her mouth, tossed back the scalding hot espresso and swallowed it all in one big gulp.

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Sticks & Carrots

For a while, I’ve wanted to write stories that would play out, at least in one’s head, like a kind of sketch comedy where the “skits” are akin to single-shot gags. I guess technically those are called vignettes. The other caveat: it’s centered entirely around things (both real and made up) that happen at/in the United Nations.

I’m labeling these posts under the series Sticks & Carrots, but these may be the only kind of thing I do for a while here. That’s because I’m going back to school, am still trying to write a book, and will be attempting smaller writing projects over here. Thoughts and prayers, please.

The first “episode” posts next week. As always, thanks for stickin’ with me through these 4 years of nonsense. I love you all.

P.S. I hope you guys like the homoerotic rabbit!America I spent 10 minutes drawing.

Cuba’s (Not So) Glorious Communist Romance

Mexico was not North Korea.

In fact, they probably didn’t even look the same naked.

But Cuba wouldn’t know because she’d never seen what was underneath North Korea’s perfectly pressed, gray suits. If she had, she wouldn’t be sitting next to Mexico then, sticky leather seats beneath them and an expanse of constellations above.

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The Problem Child

On America’s birthday, England “fondly” remembers the “best” memories of his “son.”

 

Did we want him back?

That was the question everyone wanted to know in the aftermath of the war. Over time I started to understand that people weren’t asking if we wanted to reclaim a rebellious colony. What people wanted to know was… if we missed him.

To decide whether one misses someone, one has to determine whether there was anything to miss. But, you see, never in his centuries of existence has America ever done anything to make him worth missing. In fact, he’s often made me want to disown him.

I could easily think of five hundred abhorrent things America has done (and then there would be five hundred more repressed memories lying in wait to be unearthed through the therapy I will soon surely need). But to spare us both, I will talk about only five.

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