Welcome to a free story by David Stevens.

                                                                                             AMBITION PERSONIFIED

By David Stevens


The title says it all but the intent is far deeper in it desire to explain the lust for power that some feel is due to them. Donald the hero of sorts is just one of those who desires everything, and then still even more. His life is blighted in his opinion as he is underestimated  put down and ignored completely. In fact the world owes no one a living as such and especially Donald J Taylor.                                      

                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Enjoy David Stevens


                                                                                               AMBITION PERSONIFIED

By David Stevens

Donald J. Taylor. That was his name as far as anyone who had ever been introduced to him thought; Donald J. Taylor. Only he knew the pathetic truth. His parents had missed out that all important J, it made all the difference or so he believed, to the people he met. So in a fit of total despair he had adopted the ‘ J ’ but it had made no discernable difference to his life. Society still ignored him maliciously, deliberately neglecting his awesome talents, colluding to dismiss him from existence.

Convinced that his ability as a first rate keeper of tax records shone like a blazing star, he had visited each and every major conglomerate personally, the end result was that he was now certain that there was a conspiracy to denigrate him, a world wide conspiracy at that; but of course that was their loss. Still their ignorance rankled him, until in a fit of utter despair he had hatched his plan. A plan so daring that all and sundry would be forced to recognize his true world shattering potential.

The world is my egg he thought, now is the time to crack it. ‘I, Donald J. Taylor will be the world’s first self appointed ruler, then none can fail to see my importance!’ He often spoke to himself like that, after all he reasoned, he knew exactly what his potential was, would be or at least could be.

Three days of intensive thought had led to the formulation and enactment of phase one of his master plan. There in front of him lay the resting place of every diagram, wiring circuit and security measure, for every government establishment and all waiting to be stolen by him. Security surrounding the construction and records vault of the pentagon was of the highest caliber. Yet with only a few days thought he had found its weakness. Effortlessly he had bye passed all the alarms, breaching government security controls with ease and now stood facing the records his plan required.

Committing each drawing to memory, of course being a genius he had a total recall memory or in lay man’s terms a photographic memory. Six days was all it took for him to analyze and detect his access point. Seven days after his first break in, Donald was standing, just, in a long grey tunnel, intent on crawling his way through and into the mountain fortress. The same mountain fortress that the plans had indicated held the military’s most secret, secret, the detonation control complex.

Light penetrated into the shaft in which he crouched, thin beams of artificially bright fluorescent tube light found their way through thick steel grills, bursting from within the complex via the air recycling ducts. Mile after mile he had walked, always aware of the vastness of the enclosure he was penetrating, always moving downwards until he reached a certain wire grill set into the wall to his left. Blinking, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the brightness that threatened to blind him from within.

Stretched out beneath him for as far as the eye could see (allowing for his awkward angle of vision) were row upon row of computer terminals. At the very furthest point of his sight he spotted the largest holographic display board showing the world, that he had ever seen; at last he thought, I have arrived.

Squeezing beneath a loose part of the huge grill, which separated him from the room below he prepared himself for the long climb out and down, to the solid floor. Luckily few technicians wandered between the rows of machines, so his descent went un-noticed and therefore unhampered.

Slipping on silent feet between the towering computer housings, Donald sought out one particular panel amongst the many, he found it. He was pleasantly surprised to find that some helpful tech had already removed it for him, thus allowing him easy access, which he immediately took advantage of, smoothly sliding over a steel ledge and into the main sequencing and fire control matrix. With unusual dexterity, he sought out one thin wire, which lay hidden amid a mass of other multi coloured wires. That’s it he thought, as he spotted the thin thread of gold stripe, recessed within a base colour of red. Donald suddenly felt as though a mighty hammer wielded by some long forgotten Greek God had bashed him over his head. How does that saying go he thought. ‘For all the plans of mice and men are thwarted by one little thing’; he had forgotten to bring his wire cutter’s!

If he could not cut that wire, then how could he start the irretrievable count down which would order the firing of thirty-six multi war headed nuclear rockets? Desperate, and determined that his glorious reign should exist, he gripped the wire between his teeth, wiggling it this way and that until at last it snapped. One end sprang from his closed mouth contacting the steel sides of the housing, sparking, allowing a surge of high voltage electricity, to not only burn out the wiring; but alas also to kill poor self deluded Donald J. Taylor,  stone dead where he lay, roasting him to a crisp into the process.


Called out a tech as he approached the ramrod straight figure of the base General in Command.

“Mouse Sir! Chewed its way through the red and gold wire, bit of luck that” said the tech. “If he had got the gold and red, well it does not bear thinking about, Sir.” Opening his fingers he deposited the crisp burnt remains, dropping them into a handy waste disposal unit, turning he set about repairing the circuit damage…


What value the actions of mice and men, when the trivial whim of fate plays its hand, in the card game of existence?…



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