whose reality feedback needed

[kindoflucy]

I have my whose reality sac this week and my teachers are seriously lacking in giving me feedback, so i was hoping somebody would be willing to read. text is 'Wag the Dog' and I'm leaning towards creative?

The prompt is 'illusions have the power to conceal reality but can never erase it"

As I stare at the television disdainfully, I consider how illusions are like white-out. They cover the words on a page and allow new stories to be written over. But does that mean that the ink underneath the paint does not exist? No; scratch the surface and they will once more be revealed…
Now the medication is wearing away again, my agony is revealed. Like a shield, the pills had protected me from feeling, from knowing that I am a tragic, good for nothing cripple soldier with no legs. The nurse skips over cheerfully, “Good morning Mr Smith” she offers, and without further ado, she places three pills on my tongue. She never once looks down past my torso. I am hideous and she may pretend otherwise, but we both know it is true.
As the medication makes its way into my bloodstream, I sigh in relief as the pain washes away. I once again focus on the television. The ‘Shock and Awe” campaign is what CNN are calling the Iraq war. I sniff in indignation. A more appropriate statement is “killing under the cloak of war is nothing but an act of murder” as Albert Einstein said.
This whole damn war reminds me of the film Wag the Dog. Euphemisms, slogans, jargon – call it ‘the war to end wars’, call chips ‘freedom fries’, whatever. No amount of patriotism can erase the injured civilians and soldiers. Glorify criminals – give them cutesy names like ‘Good Old Shoe’ – it doesn’t change who and what they are. The only soldiers we hear about are the ones who die and even then, they are glorified into heroes as compensation. My commander told me to carry his pack, so I did. He ran. He did not look back. He abandoned me. He sentenced me to my death. But he was blown up, and I was left a cripple. Nobody ever hears about me but I still exist. He was given a national funeral with his polished mahogany coffin draped in the American flag. He was awarded a medal of bravery for his ‘ultimate sacrifice’ like Willie Schumann.  What a load of bullshit.
Michael Leunig pointed out that the invasion of Iraq has ‘to date, involved the killing of more than one hundred thousand civilians.’ Funnily enough, we don’t seem to hear much about them, or people like me. They may confine me to a hospital but they cannot erase my memory. I am still living proof of reality. They can spin any illusion to the public, but I know. I know the truth.
Robert De Niro’s character, Conrad proved that journalists do not do their job. They do not ask questions like they should. These people have the power to overthrow the lies politicians vomit out every day but instead, they aid politicians. Sigel suggested in 1973 that journalists ‘are exploited by their sources either to insert information into the news or to propagandise. It is so true.  Journalists are cheerleaders for the Iraq war like they were cheerleaders for the ‘appearance of a war’ in Albania. I snort sardonically as I recite my favourite line from the film out loud; “What difference does it make if it’s true? It’s a story, they’ll run with it.” People such as Conrad know exactly what illusion is and what reality is. They may be experts at concealing reality, but they can never erase it.
I wonder how Willie Schumann felt. They tried to conceal his madness with pills the same way they try to make me forget I have no legs. But they couldn’t. I studied Friedrich Nietzche at school and I remember our teacher quoting him, “whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.’ Medicine is powerful but it cannot change people like Schumann and I. Reality can be distorted or presented in a different light, but as white-out covers the words on a page, the words do not disappear. They are simply covered. The sun does not vanish every night. We just cannot see it. Such is reality.
I sigh impatiently as the nurse returns with my lunch. “Today’s menu is the ‘Burger off terrorism’!” she giggles. ‘Gettit? Bugger off terrorism!! Funny isn’t it? Ten percent of the profits are going towards ending Saddam Hussein’s evil campaign.’ I stare at her blankly as it strikes me that this is almost an exact parallel to the ‘303 burger’. She has already turned her attention to CNN which is still playing on the television in front of me. She is oblivious even here, even in a hospital of the horrors that the media cover up. She is brainwashed like the rest of them. She considers the CNN the most reliable source of information. I see it as a puppet of politics. Maybe only those who experience reality as it is, with all its horrors can truly see the deception that in involved in creating a world laden with propaganda and falsity.
I take an angry bite of the burger. It appears filled with fresh, vibrant red tomato and beetroot but even this is a fucking constructed reality. As I chew, I note how the tomato is tasteless. Even food these days is an illusion with genetic modification. The burger may look good, but I taste the ironically tasteless truth.
I wonder why so many people are intent on using smokescreens and mirages. The government does it for power. They spin this war to their advantage to make themselves appear the modest heroes. I doubt the War on Terror is to cover up a sex scandal but whatever their reasons, their popularity has risen in the polls. Are people so discontent with themselves that they must resort to lying and deception? I do not believe happiness can be achieved if it has been built on the foundations of dishonesty.
Forgetting the nurse was still there, I muse aloud, “why is it that the moral prefer contentment whilst the immoral resort to corrupted success and deceive themselves into thinking that power is happiness?”
“What was that?” She asks, furrowing her brow in confusion.
I feel the anger welling in my throat and I wish I could lift myself out of this hospital bed and leave the room, but I cannot walk so I am obliged to talk. “Why is it that I am the victim of this?” I demand. “This is the result of your fucking twisted, glorified war! People like me have our lives destroyed. Innocent mothers and children are dead!” I spit. “Have you ever seen Wag the Dog?” I ask her. She shakes her head, and I have a strong sense of satisfaction that she is stunned at my outburst.
“A film producer is killed in order to maintain an illusion and an innocent girl does not get the justice she deserves. That’s all this war is – an altruistic illusion to cover up the truth and gain votes, that’s all it is. Will you please turn that TV off?” I ask wearily for I am tired with hatred for constructed realities.
“What did television ever do to you?” She asks, still shocked.
“It destroyed the electoral process.” I reply.