Terry's Book cover

Terry from Derry: The Lonely Passion of D.T.

It had been a while since D.T. (Dickey Tricky) had held a popular place in people’s minds.  His sunny disposition had not fared well since his popularity had begun to wane. He had tried to enlighten them but they wouldn’t listen. Their hearts were hardened towards him.  

Correctly, he had predicted that life without him would be less entertaining, less controversial, and above all mediocre. For the short time that he had shone, he had made this nation radiantly beautiful. And the wonder of his light would have continued had the nation taken the rare opportunity to continue to live in his sunshine, but they did not. 

Consoling himself, he remembered the prophet’s words, ‘he came to his own, but they knew him not.’  Never had a truer word been spoken. His efforts to save them from themselves were maligned and misconstrued as selfish egotism. 

Talk of his exploitation, seditious behaviour, and petty selfishness confirmed the prophet’s words.  And now, as his light failed to make a strong impression, he gathered his closest disciples.

Lady G., a political harlot in her day, was beside herself to be counted among his tribe. She had prided herself in being among the very few who had witnessed the sunshine out of D.T.’s every orifice. Her absolute devotion to the messiah was unquestionable. 

Some had criticized her for being fickle.  Yes, she had been a naysayer who had dismissed D.T.’s aspirations as bullshit, but that was gone now. With true repentance, she washed his feet with her tears and reaffirmed her loyalty by begging the masses on his behalf. 

The mule had been a cagey one. His ability to stand on the most advantageous side was well-known. He’d prospered and remained favourable to his supporters, despite his blatant double dealings.  His mastery of the cloak and dagger had earned him the title of Kentucky’s Macbeth.  

There were, of course, rumours that he and Lady G. had been lovers, or, at the very least, he’d paid for her services, but this was pure speculation. The other disciples were expendable radicals, zealots, willing to burn themselves at the altar of D.T. should he require it. 

M.T.G (Martha the Gobshite) loved the limelight and spun her web of deceit with little or no subtly. Her love of the spotlight had, in recent times, reduced her to becoming a media whore, who was willing to say the most ridiculous things in order to make love to the camera.  

Coach J.J. (Jibber-Jabbin’) was mawkishly sycophantic, shamelessly craving his master’s approval. His obsequiousness, though cloying and childish, was repugnant to D.T., but nevertheless, the master deigned to pet J.J. on the head and call him a good boy.  L.B. (Lazy Bullshiter), one of the worst radicals, is so intellectually challenged they feared she might forget whose side she was on and mistakenly shoot D.T. himself.

It was Thursday, and D.T. had ridden into the New Jerusalem along with his motorcade. The media outlets, bar one, had already crucified him with trumped-up charges so that even some of the most loyal of his supporters had begun to doubt him.  

Despite all the miracles he had wrought for them, he had always suspected that their subordination had been tentative. And though he had washed them clean, and pardoned their offences, still, they held back from fully endorsing the good intentions of his heart, choosing instead to walk in darkness.  

M.T. G turned up, bullhorn in hand, ready to make a scene. But when the crowd closed in on her, she scarpered to her happy place full of other Twitter gobshites.  

After all the kerfuffle was over, the high priest and his men came for D.T., and he was taken into the temple alone. Whipped by their allegations 34 times, D.T. held his ground. 

Outside, he knew the faithful were preaching from their pulpits on his behalf. At this very minute, women and men eulogized his bravery, equating it to the sacrificial lamb slaughtered for their sins. 

As the high priest and his lackeys doled out their preposterous accusations, D.T. felt a powerful, heavenly light drowning out their indictments, as the eternal sunshine of his charmed life oozed out of every bloody pore. 

He was their chosen one; the saviour who took it upon himself to embrace the corruption of the world, basking in wanton greed, lust, and lies. He became the worst of them in order to save them.  

Incarnating every evil, he did, so they did not have to indulge themselves. Soon the world would truly see the brilliance of his enlightened path. 

He need only have to say the word and his angels would destroy his enemies. It wasn’t that long ago when at his command, they’d done it before and would do it again if he wished it. 

Leaving the court, D.T. emerged to the camera’s flashing lights. Soon his lonely image emanated through the universe and filled the empty spaces of the world’s media. 

What was perceived to be his downfall would be his triumph. As he entered the lonely sphere of his car, his light began to dwindle.  

Darkness began to consume him as he reflected on the numerous charges against him. The forces of unrighteousness were banding together to extinguish his brightness. 

Even now, the light of heaven seemed to dim and disappear. A surge of loneliness took possession of him. Doubt clouded his mind as he reflected on his credo to save by taking on the worst traits of human nature.  

He reminded himself of the prophet Bob’s words, ‘Steal a little and they’ll throw you in jail, steal a lot and they’ll make you king.’  He had stolen enough to become the number one person in the nation. There was no way he would ever darken the halls of a prison, right?

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