Saving the Country from Anarchy
He’s coming out waving flags, semaphores, seismographic faulty fissures, phantasmagoric blinding flashes of color, distracting to say the least, they kick up quite a breeze all those flags, the snipers are antsy, their trigger fingers are sweating, they keep adjusting their earpieces, they can’t believe they haven’t been given the go, this used to be a cut-and-dry situation.
“Hello there!” he calls out, still waving the flags. “Let’s negotiate.”
What does he think he has to offer, what page is he on?
“Put the flags down,” an amplified voice calls out, the voice of power, the voice that can whisper do it into their earpieces and that will be that, four hollow-points thru the heart, home in time for the NBA playoffs.
“Put the flags down,” the voice repeats. “Down on your knees. Hands behind your head.”
Fat chance. People waving flags, they never listen to reason, the only thing they understand is a hollow-point thru the heart. These snipers have been around, they’ve seen it all, someone with a grenade or a machete, there’s a chance they’ll listen to reason, but the flag wavers – forget it.
“Well I’d love to do that, but I need an assurance. Something in writing. Maybe get a plane up there to do a little skywriting.”
That’s all they can handle. All four snipers fire simultaneously, as if an order had been given, which it hasn’t.
He goes down hard, tangled in flags.
This, of course, is what he was hoping for. He’s given himself as human sacrifice to enhance the revolution.
A long silence, and then the voice says: “Stand down. Debriefing at 0900 hours.”
They do as they’re told, but one of these days, if things keep on like this, one of these days they’ll toss their earpieces and do what deep in their hearts they know needs doing if the country is to be saved from anarchy.
