The Great White Kings
Page 4
along with the pageantry--red roses, white daffodils, and blue violets. The Pundits took their place. Of course, none of them really had anything to say that was worth listening to, or really expressed an honest opinion. They only promoted the usual conflict, rather than any resolve with any real solution to any real problem. With conflict, the saga continues. With resolve, the saga ends. And so on, and so on, and so on. What they did debate vigorously amongst themselves was that the Chosen Ones did outnumber the wolves ten to one. And that this might play to their advantage. In any event, particularly this great one, most of the money was riding on the wolves, and that’s who the Oddsmakers were still favoring heavily, hedging their funds, betting on a bloodbath.
Meanwhile, down on the playing field, the wolves snarled in their cages, starved for days. However, not so starved that they were weak. Just starved enough so that they worked up a hearty appetite for the Chosen Ones. And if hunger was not sufficient enough to devour the Chosen Ones, the Wolfkeepers added to the incentive by cracking their whips to keep the wolves on the defense and in the foulest mood.
Adding to the festivities, were one hundred Marksmen, one for each wolf, standing in towers positioned around the stadium. And Soldiers were on the ground to orchestrate and monitor the movements of the Chosen Ones. And the Chosen Ones, confined to their concentrated camps, were frail and exposed, denied food, and clothed minimal--narrowly sufficient to meet the moral code of decency. After all, as the Merchants, sponsoring The Great Event and Network Broadcasts, so reverently pointed out, this murder and mayhem spectacle was a family show, and must remain within those values.
And at long last, the horns sounded, signaling the beginning of The Great Event. The tone was uplifting. There was a flyby. A flock of geese flew over the stadium in formation. Most likely frightened from the sound of the horns and fleeing the venue. Nevertheless, the Free Citizens saw this as a miracle in the making, a sign from God. Poor God, the superstition he is so often mistakenly associated with.
The Free Citizens began to clap their hands and stomp their feet, while crying out, “Freedom, freedom, freedom...!”
The Great White Kings glanced towards each other and smiled pleased. They sensed once more they had the Mongrels on the run.
Next, the Chosen Ones, one thousand in all--men, women and children--were herded into the pit at gunpoint by the Soldiers. The Chosen Ones huddled together, clinging to each other, horrified, weeping and begging for mercy.
However, the more they wept and the more they begged, the more the Free Citizens clapped and stomped, crying out, “Freedom, freedom, freedom...!”
The wolves snarled with their prey in sight. The Wolfkeepers cracked their whips to make the mood of the wolves even more foul. A few of the Chosen Ones made an attempt to escape, but the Marksmen in the towers fired shots near their feet and the Soldiers trained their rifles on them and they were forced back into the herd.
The Free Citizens were even more delighted, shouting and applauding with greater enthusiasm, “Freedom, freedom, freedom...!”
And with this momentum, the Great White Kings, together, extended an arm and made a fist, then put a thumb up.
The Free Citizens could taste the blood, “Freedom, freedom, freedom...!”
And with the drama and fervor reaching a fever pitch, the Great White Kings, together, turned their thumbs down. The horns sounded, holding one long alarming note. The Chosen Ones clutched each other engulfed with terror. The Wolfkeepers released the wolves. The wolves sprang from their cages the moment the cage doors opened. They sprinted and charged, clawing and gnawing, sinking their teeth into the flesh of anyone who was in their path and ripping them apart. The Chosen Ones tried to run, but there was nowhere to run. The men tried to fight the wolves, but they were ripped apart. The women tried to shield their children, but they were ripped apart. Children screamed for their parents, but they were ripped apart. Blood was strewn everywhere. The smell was ghastly. It was grossly and grisly entertaining. The Free Citizens watched the massacre intensely, smiling, laughing, tracking with excitement what man, woman or child would be ripped apart next by the ravenous wolves. The Great White Kings also seemed to be enjoying themselves as much as the Free Citizens, while nibbling food and sipping drink from the concessions.
Soon, though, the action came to a complete halt. The terrified screams of the Chosen Ones were silenced with death. The Oddsmakers picked it right. It was a bloodbath. The Chosen Ones were no match for the wolves. The extermination was complete. The wolves had made quick work of them. The pit was like a lake of blood and carnage. Not one of the Chosen Ones stirred. What remained was just the wolves gnawing and mashing their teeth cleaning whatever flesh was left off the bone. The only fight that carried on was amongst themselves, roaming about, engaging in quick skirmishes, the stronger of the clash winning out. There again was the irony. With so much flesh to go around, even the wolves were greedy, trying to hoard as much carnage as they could to themselves.
Not surprising, the Free Citizens were quickly bored. They thought the violence would be more disturbing and the appeal last a much longer span than just the opening. The Pundits commented, it was very disappointing and sure to receive a lukewarm review. The Free Citizens began murmuring with one another, questioning the whole point of The Great Event. The cries for freedom had died with the Chosen Ones. What correlation was there really between freedom and throwing people to the wolves? This was the question that kept running through the minds of the Free Citizens faster than the Chosen Ones could make an honest run from the wolves.
The Great White Kings looked troubled. They ordered the Marksmen to put an end to the wolves. Not so much for any moral purpose, but to entertain the Free Citizens, keep them distracted, providing time, while they quickly thought up a resolution. The Marksmen did as ordered, cutting down the one hundred wolves, each with a single shot. The wolves yelped and moaned and soon laid dead with the Chosen Ones in the lake of blood and carnage. The Free Citizens groaned. It seems they had more empathy for the wolves than the Chosen Ones. The Great White Kings looked very, very bad, and had to come up with something very, very good, quickly. And then it happened. The answer to their prayers--a great white miracle.
Amongst the carnage of men, women and children, a faint cry of agony was heard. The Free Citizens hushed. The Great White Kings hushed. All eyes transfixed on the pit. All hopes clung to there being a survivor. Then amongst the carnage, one man began to stir. The Free Citizens heard his agony as he pushed bodies off of him and moved bones away. The dead had shielded him from the wolves. He slowly began to rise. And when he made it to his feet, his legs could barely support the weight of his body, even as lean as it was. They quivered uncontrollably and looked like they would collapse any moment. The quivering, however, was more from the trauma of enduring the slaughter, rather than from any wound he had suffered. Though unstable, the man, or Survivor, stood there firm without injury. The Free Citizens were fascinated and marveled. So, too, were the Great White Kings. The Pundits commented, the Survivor may issue a statement any moment. Moments passed as the Survivor stood there with a horrified glaze in his eyes, shivering from the terror, smearing blood around, trying to wipe it away from his body. His mind was just trying to shut out the gruesome memory of the slaughter. Eventually, he did make a statement. It was this mad sort of gibberish. He now was completely insane. However, everyone smiled and laughed softly, engaged by his charm. Everyone, except for the Mongrels. They just sadly shook their heads with shame and disbelief. What followed was more shame, more disbelief.
Caught up in a moment of inspiration, one Free Citizen cried out, “Freedom!”
This awakened the Free Citizens.
Feeling no remorse, no empathy for the slaughter, only a greater inspiration, the Free Citizens once more began clapping their hands and stomping their feet, while crying out, “Freedom, freedom, freedom..
.!”
Naturally, this brought upon the Survivor, standing in the pit, a greater apprehension. From his position, the cry freedom translated into a festive feeding frenzy for the wolves. He responded angry and fearful with more mad gibberish at a heightened tone.
Yet, his tone was drowned out by the inspiration of the Free Citizens and the heightened cry of, “Freedom, freedom, freedom...!”
The Great White Kings were again pleased. With the Survivor, the Free Citizens had recognized and embraced freedom as this Conservatism had defined. A person could survive and make it all on their own against the wolves. And if one could do it, so could others, even though it was only one in one thousand. For the Free Citizens, one in one thousand was good enough.
With this overwhelming mandate, the Great White Kings gestured and the horns sounded. They were ready to address the Free Citizens. And while the Survivor in the pit turned with alarm and despair bracing for another attack, the Free Citizens quieted and waited for the Great White Kings to speak. The first king to speak was the Great White King from the West and Midwest.
To the Free Citizens, he proclaimed, “This Survivor is a great