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Monday, September 26, 2011

From "Marooned" by P.J. Druce

"You don't own me," I say.

"You're absolutely right. I don't own you. I created you. If it weren't for me, you and your mother would be toiling in some factory right now, or worse, you'd be on your knees trying to coax food from polluted soil."

This isn't the time for this argument, but I can't stop myself. "Doesn't sound so bad. As long as you weren't around."

He jerks on my arm, spinning me to face him. "Little girl, I'll always be around. Don't think of me as your father, because I'm not. Don't think of me as your mother's husband, because that means very little to me anymore."

"So," I ask with a sneer, "I should think of you as an ass?"

"No," he says, "I hold the power of immortality." He leans in close. His lips pull back, baring his teeth, and he whispers, "You should think of me as God."

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