Irish With A Tan

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Triggered


Everyone was looking. What began as proud shouting, now became the piercing wails of the fallen. A difference which to some was only in pitch. The yelling had been awful, but the swordsmanship used against this entity had been brutal. Armed with nothing but soundness and clear thinking, the Speaker had cut through their ad hominems. Delivering blow, after blow. Reductio, after reductio. 

“What is your name!”, said the Speaker over the crying.

“Snowflakes,” hissed the student possessed man, “for we are triggered.” As though a magic word had been spoken they, looked with hope at the Speaker’s eyes. But met only with an unflinching gaze, in desperation they cried out in one voice “Please send us into the safe space,’  pointed the possessed, ” let us enter it.”

“Go.”

With great shrieking they came out of the man. Though no one could see them, they felt a strong offended presence passing over them. Leaving almost as suddenly as it had arrived, as though in a hurry. And the crowd were astonished as the man who sat on the ground before them was restored to his right mind.

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This entry was posted on November 16, 2016 by in Satire.
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