Heart of Gold Turned Heart of Cold

“ With great power comes great responsibility.” . This used to be a phrase of some kind, long ago. A phrase about power being used to help others, and do what’s right. Not many can remember that phrase, but I do. Truly, it was not long ago that this phrase was used by what was called mainstream media. But, that’s not what this world is. In this world, power does not come with responsibility. In this world, power is the only thing that matters.

The current year is 2050. The world’s technology is far beyond anything that the general populous thought it would be, some thirty years ago. Even I, myself, never expected the world to be so advanced. Oil and gas are a thing of the past, cars fly in the air, not roll on the ground, global warming and global hunger disappeared ages ago. There are no more wars, no more discrimination, no more violence or political unrest, and no more threats of nuclear annihilation. Every world problem was solved over thirty years ago. All because one person came to power: The Greatest.

The Greatest was one man, one single man, with all the power to all the world’s resources. All the say, all the control, everything that one could ever need to be in power, he held in his hands. He took power with unbelievable swiftness. He amassed an army, and one by one, every country in the world fell before his rule. No one knows exactly what happened, and no one will ever know.

He divided the world up into four “ sectors”,. The four generals that were the most loyal to him, and most useful as warriors, became the magistrates of the four sectors. The Greatest eliminated all borders between all counties, all cities, all states, and all countries. The only thing that separated one place on the Earth from the other was the label of sectors and measurable distances. Taking a cue from Alexander the Great, The Greatest re-named every city after him, with only slight variations between the names. Not many people remember Alexander the Great, either, but I do.

As they say, history is written by the victors. At least, they used to say that. Such expressions or even knowledge are not allowed, anymore. What many don’t know is that history is also destroyed by the victors, as well. Once The Greatest gained power, every record of anything that happened before he took power was obliterated. No one was ever allowed to speak of such things, or else they were executed. Never publicly, always in the shadows. There was only The Greatest, there only ever was The Greatest, and there always will be The Greatest. He is The Greatest, this world was The Greatest, and everything in it is The Greatest.

That was how this world worked. The Greatest was the one who held all the power in the world. The four generals that he delegated the work of maintaining the four sectors were nothing more than servants. High ranking servants, but still servants, nonetheless. Not that they knew it. All they knew was if they attempted to have more power than what The Greatest allowed them to have, they would be snuffed out from within the shadows, just as the previous General of the 3rd Sector had been.

The Greatest was a man named Manuel Millhouse. He sat upon a throne of gold and tyranny. He is a 90-year-old man who will not die. My name is Joy McCrory. I am a 60-year-old woman. I am a simple janitor at The Greatest’s base of operations. I am a voiceless, invisible piece of furniture. That is, as far as anyone knows.

You know the premise of this world, now let me tell you the truth. My father is the one they call The Greatest. But, this world does not bend to his will. It bends to mine, and mine alone.

You may think from what I’ve told you that the way this world works is survival of the fittest, but it isn’t. It’s all about who has the most power. Whoever has the most power is the one who rules. This is the only thing my father has ever taught me. But, my mother taught me otherwise.

I grasp the golden heart-shaped locket from around my neck and open it up. Tucked lovingly into the frame of the locket, was a picture of my mother, and myself. It was taken on the last day I was ever innocent.

My mother was the kindest, most caring, most loving person in the world. If angels were real, she was it. She had a heart of gold, and I tried my hardest to model myself after her. She showered me with love and dedicated all her time to me. But, my father was as opposite of her as could be. He blamed all his cruelty and rage on his substance abuse. He was on any and every kind of substance there was. Alcohol, drugs, you name it. My mother always insisted that if she and I both loved him with all we had, we could change him for the better. So, I did what she said, and I loved him as hard as I could. Not that it made a difference.

One day, it seemed to work. He stopped drinking and using for a week. Long enough to remember that my mother was his wife and that I was his daughter. We went to the zoo, I ate cotton candy and he bought me a balloon. It was the first and only day the three of us acted like a family, and I loved it. I was so happy, I asked to take a picture together with the three of us. For the first time ever, he actually agreed with something that made me happy. I was so sure my mother was right, and that we’d finally done it. It was the happiest day of my life, and that just made the next day cut even deeper.

The next day, the bus dropped me off after school. When I walked in the door, I had lost my mother. My father was let off on grounds of “ Temporary Insanity”, and was put into a rehab program. Being only eight years old, I was taken into foster care. As I stood in the doorway to my childhood home, and saw my mother in a bloody heap on the ground, with my father standing above her with a broken bottle in one hand and my jump rope tied around his other arm, I learned something very important that day.

When my mother was alone with my father, it didn’t matter how kind she was. It didn’t matter how good of a person she was, and it didn’t matter how much she loved him. What mattered was that my father was bigger and stronger than her and that he had the power over her that she had conceded to him. So, he spent all my life treating us both however he pleased because he had the power to do so. That’s when I learned that all that mattered was how much power you had.

That lesson was taught to me by my father and reiterated by every hellhole foster home I lived in until my eighteenth birthday. All nine of those foster homes were like living in all nine circles of hell. They had the power to protect me, but that’s not what they did with it. The social worker had the power to place me in a better home every time, but he didn’t care. Every house he dumped me in was worse than the last.

My mother always said she hoped that I would never make the same mistakes she did. So, I promised I wouldn’t. I promised I would never let anyone else in the world have more power than me. I promised her I would endure it all and become stronger. I grew sharper, craftier, and smarter. It turned out, I was gifted. I had intelligence so high, it not only broke the standard IQ test, my mind buried it. I never let anyone know. Letting others know what you’re capable of means that they could use the power they have over you in ways even worse than you could imagine.

I created technology only ever thought of in science fiction. I created a neural implant that gave me control over other pieces of technology through nothing more than my own brainwaves. My father thought he still had his power over me, but running to him in crocodile tears and calling him “ Daddy” was all it took for him to play into my hands. I had all the knowledge of a world-changing engineer and a neurosurgeon. I merely combined the two and implanted a receiver to my neurotransmitter in my father’s brain.

My father spent all his life controlling my mother, controlling me, and everyone else around him. Now, his victim controlled him. He is aware of everything around him, but every word out of his mouth and every action of his body was not his to control, it was mine. He became my puppet, and I would never let him rest.

I followed my father through his supposed conquest, as a silent, nameless servant girl. No one would ever suspect the no-name cleaner to be the one pulling the strings. Not that anyone even suspected anyone else was controlling the strings. No one but me and my father knew this technology existed.

My technology and work are progressing even further. With the right conditions, one could live forever. No one will ever know of this, however. No one except for me and my father. I will never allow the man who wronged me so to rest in peace.

As I look down at the locket in my hands, I see the part of the photo where I ripped out my father’s face. Some part of me wonders if this is what my mother would want for me. Would she be proud of me? I sigh and close the locket.

My mother is the one who taught me to be strong. My mother is the one who taught me to live my life as best as I can. Now, I have all the power in the world. Now, no one in the world will ever have enough power to harm me.

But, now, I’m doing something my mother didn’t have the time to teach me how to do: Live for myself. Now, I must stand up. I must return to my laboratory, and return to my work. Power does not come easily.