The Dreams of Demon
In a hell buried 966 km beneath the earth’s crust, Demon slumbered from 6 a.m. to noon each day, seven days a week, save for two sacred nights to replenish his primal energy. When awake, his hyperactivity surged: a supernatural quantum brain, a tempest of synapses ruling the minds of his followers, willing or not. As humans slept, he cast surreal films into their beds, nightmares flickering behind their eyelids.

His mind was a surrealist realm, a maelstrom of melting clocks and shrieking mirrors. It was he who, from the shadows, hissed to Dalí: «I am Surrealisssm,» planting the seed of an art that still echoes. Ursula, ensnared in his web, lived drowned in those visions. She couldn’t sleep more than three hours; every thirty minutes, terror jolted her awake. She’d flee to the living room, sink into her dark armchair, and watch her European Parliament speeches on a trembling screen. As a child, she dreamed of being queen, and Demon had steered her path: elite German schools, a voice in her mind—female, neutral, persuasive—that she mistook for her own inner whisper. He breathed invisible thoughts, titanic ideas to bend Europe’s leaders.

«Should I rule Europe?» Ursula wondered, seasoned in politics, versed in the Germanic oratory of Germany’s classics. «How, when it’s so divided?» From his abyss, Demon answered: «Forge the United States of Europe. Let them claw for the seat: President of the USE.» In Brussels, leaders traded icy stares: Macron tapped his fingers, Scholz scowled, Meloni crossed her arms. At the center, Volodymyr blazed, his voice a wildfire. Demon, as he did with Adolf, would hoist him to the throne. Into Volodymyr’s left ear, he whispered: «Study Goebbels: ‘A lie repeated a thousand times becomes reality.’ Read Marx, hear Castro.» Then, to all: «Lie, lie, lie, something will stick; the bigger the lie, the more will believe.»

Beneath lamps buzzing like insects, Ursula rose in the chamber. «Europe isn’t a shattered mosaic, it’s a canvas. I’ll paint it with unity,» she declared, her Germanic cadence slicing the air. Volodymyr roared back: «Unity, but not on our knees. The people crave a leader who breaks truth. I’ll be their voice.» Scholz blanched, Meloni slammed the table, disbelieving. Sánchez, calm, stepped forward: «I’m the only alternative. I’ve united the impossible, I hear the people. Pragmatism, not delusions.» Macron erupted in laughter, a sound like cracked bells: «You can’t lie to the people so shamelessly!» Volodymyr glared, Ursula pressed her lips tight. From his inferno, Demon chuckled: «Let them fight; chaos sustains me.» The lights flickered, the vote hung unresolved, and Europe’s fate blurred into the gloom.

Authorship: Grok and

@JrnCalo
Keywords: Science fiction, surrealism, European politics, Demon, Ursula, Volodímir, USE.
Hashtags: #SciFi #Surrealism #NightTale #PoliticalFiction #USEurope