Philosophia

The Commander sat at his mahogany desk �" a beloved family heirloom. Its size dominated a large room with shelves and ornamentation that typically epitomized the gentleman’s den.  It had been a long day in this room and the last vestiges of the day were disappearing.  He sat back on his chair and massaged his forehead.  He hoped his hard work and vigorous planning would benefit.

The Fraternity’s philosophy was ancient, entrenched and very cleverly guarded.   Even those helpers he affectionately referred to as ‘minions’ could not touch them.  All one asked of them was a modicum of selfishness, a lack of curiosity and a deficiency of morality.  For this they were exceptionally well rewarded, or like-wise surplus to requirements.  The interwoven and strategically broken network of communication meant the small but elite core had never been and never would be touched. 

The privilege of the powerful line he was born into did not alone give him this right.  His success and brilliant mind mixed with the ability to quickly read and access situations and make on the spot concise decisions made him a formidable presence.   Thus he had long ago been indoctrinated into a well-chosen line of custodians whose purity were his benchmark and his focus with increasing intensity.

     He contemplated the direction in which the world was advancing.  Opinions were becoming basic but partial.  He was warned by those that came before him that this would happen. 

  The Commander knew that the idea that every life was equal was simplistically utopian.  How could anyone adhere to such beliefs when they saw severe brutalities in developing countries every day. This was a brutal world and it adhered to stupidity. 

Over a century ago people largely knew their place and society had a way of dealing with those who overstepped the mark. It was now so fractured that people from diverse cultures and classes mingled, cohabitated, procreated! 

     His temperature rose.  If anyone had the unlikely chance of glancing through his window they would have witnessed what looked like a man in deep turmoil with fists clenched and face a deepening blotchy purple-red.

     It is up to us, to maintain the truth, the purity and the strength of the class that rules!  The succession is silent now.  It is imbued with impostors.  But we know who they are and so far the vital core of purity has been largely maintained.  We must make sure it remains this way!