The Great Leader cowered in his stronghold. The walls shook as each salvo from the grand alliance found their mark. The glorious war was not going well. Once the world had awakened to what was taking place in the lands of his “benevolent union”, their reaction had been swift and forceful.
Like many of his ilk, The Great Leader underestimated the fortitude of his opponents and overestimated his own intelligence. Thus he overreached and was now in free fall.
The Eternal Empire was no more than the citadel that surrounded him. And soon enough that would fall and it would all be done. In public, The Great Leader strove to hold together the nation by sheer force of will. Within the walls of his inner sanatorium he knew better. The noose was around his neck and every thump of artillery pulled it tighter.
There was a price on his head – sufficiently large to impress even The Great Leader. A large reward waited for anyone who delivered him into the hands of the Alliance – alive. Of course they would accept his corpse too, but there was only so much public humiliation they were willing to subject a dead body to, while the living could suffer the tortures of the damned over and over. He knew full well what would happen – they would drag him through the recently captured “special centers” where only the necessary had been done – what Nature would have done if not for the decadence and false compassion of so many members of the so-called Human race.
Nature grants victory to the swift and powerful, and sets the others aside, dispassionately. All the centers did was what was necessary – cull the sick and infirm, the dull of mind and weak of spirit. In a proper world, these impartial forces would have dealt with them as a matter of course. But the so-called Human Race was itself weak and unwilling to do what was necessary. Its leaders were infected with the insane sentimentality that all human life is precious before God. What idiocy, thought The Great Leader. Even if there was this “God”, there was scant evidence of the benevolence this belief required upon the part of the deity.
But whatever forces The Great Leader believed in had now deserted him, along with even his most trusted followers. When the Alliance forces set foot in the citadel, there would be no one to greet them. Cowards, the lot of them, he thought.
The bombardment ceased. The Great Leader waited and soon heard the sounds of boots pounding down the hallway. Perhaps one pair belonged to The Great General who led the alliance forces – he had a penchant for dramatics that the Great Leader shared. A flurry of gun shots rang out in the corridor – then silence. The door was flung open and The Great Leader found himself looking down the barrels of a dozen guns, held tightly in the hands of Alliance soldiers. Was it time, he asked himself? No, not yet. Sit still. Wait for The General.
The Great Leader sat smiling blankly at his would-be captors. After a moment he spoke: “I would like to speak to the General.” Soon enough the General himself walked into the room. Not as tall as I remember, thought The Great Leader. Not as terrifying, either. An ordinary old man in rumpled fatigues, the only symbol of his rank were the stars on the collar of his jacket. Very much different than the elaborate decorative uniform worn by the Great Leader – the very one he wore the day he first appeared before his people as their new ruler. Somewhat wrinkled from storage and tailored for the more robust man he once was, nevertheless the uniform projected authority – as befits The Great Leader.
He looked in the General’s eyes and saw there a fire – not of mere hatred – he did not expect the General to be that simple. It took The Great Leader a few moments to determine the state of the Generals’ soul. No, not contempt – he had seen enough contempt in the eyes of his father to last him a lifetime. He knew how to deal with contempt. No, these eyes said something very different, unfamiliar.
A second later The Great Leader realized that the General’s eyes were saying – weariness. The General was ready to return to hearth and home, sit by the fire with his wife and dogs and let the world go by. To give up being the General and once again just be a man.
Of all the emotions The Great Leader could read in the General’s eyes, this was the one he was least prepared for. He could never quit being The Great Leader, sit by the fire and be just a man again. As long as he drew breath, The Great Leader he would be – with all that brought. His fall would not change that – even without the power to command armies, to dictate life and death over millions, he would still be The Great Leader. That thought wounded him deeply – what use was the title without the power? He had sacrificed the possibility of domestic life to become The Great Leader, and did not regret it until this moment.
Until that moment, The Great Leader was sure of what he was going to do. Beneath this room rested the technological treasure of his nation – a home built nuclear weapon. Originally it was destined for an atmospheric test to let the world know of the power he held. Scraped together from reprocessed nuclear fission products, the device was small in yield but clumsy to transport, hence it never left the citadels’ workshops. Now it waited a few meters below where The Great Leader and General stood glaring at each other.
With a smile, the Great Leader pressed the ‘Big Beautiful Button’. He had a momentary perception of a light bright enough to make the floor beneath his feet transparent. Then darkness.
The Great Leader heard a name being called. It was not his name, but he recognized it, but not because he had ever heard it before. Something about this place belonged to the name. He began to feel a presence around him. No, he thought. Not around me, not even within me – I am the presence. He felt himself flowing into a new form, unknown but familiar. It was a human body, but not his own. This one felt younger, more vital than his own. But something was different – very different. He felt cold somewhere where one should not feel cold – a place which nature had carefully enclosed.
He tried to move but could not. This body was not capable of moving. I must be paralyzed, he thought. But even the most brain damaged person can move something – an eyelid or – anything. He willed this body, by now he was sure that it was not his body, to move. Nothing happened.
The Great Leader fell silent within and realized what was wrong – the absence of breath or heartbeat. This body was dead. But it retained the warmth and softness of life, so The Great Leader presumed it was freshly dead. Now he was able to identify the sensation that had first assailed him upon consciousness – the coldness was in the abdomen – what was supposed to be inside was outside, spilled on the ground beneath his body.
Who is that? How did he die? The Great Leader wondered. In the next moment, his body was rudely flipped onto its back. Now The Great Leader could see through the dead man’s staring eyes. The face he saw showed the concern of one warrior for another and the cold detachment of fighters in the midst of battle. After a moment that face vanished and all was still.
A new face came into view. The Great Leader had no measure of time, no count of heartbeats nor ticks of a mental clock. This face looked very different – it shone with the glee of victory and arrogance of power. The face looked closely at him and smiled. The barrel of an automatic rifle came to his eyes. A flash then darkness.
Awakening. This body was small with a burning pain between the legs and a crushed windpipe. Eyes gazing on a red face bulging with unbridled lust. One last sharp pain between the legs; then it ceased, leaving mangled flesh in its wake.
The Great Leader catalogued the other pre-mortem wounds; wrists cut and chafed, blisters from burns, a broken nose – he could go no farther. This body was that of a young girl, not yet on the cusp of puberty. She had been abducted, tortured, raped and finally strangled. In that moment, the Great Leader felt something rare – disgust and horror. For I ever did or caused to be done, such things were forbidden. What kind of monster would perpetrate such horror upon a child?
His reverie was broken by the body being yanked off the filthy mattress and hauled up and down stairs until it was thrown down on cold concrete. A burning gash appeared on each arm and he/she felt blood drain from the body. Then a horrible sound filled the room.
The face once again filled his/her vision, holding a running chain saw. With horror The Great Leader realized what was about to happen and silently cried out for what – he didn’t know – mercy?
He felt the flesh of his/her neck rip under the teeth of the saw and then darkness.
Awakening. Falling through the air among the shattered remnants of an airplane. Still strapped to the seat but legs and arms torn away. Neck twisted at an impossible angle. The Great Leader remembers – the man with the bomb, the plane diving and rocking, passengers hurled around. A defiant scream in an unfamiliar language and then the explosion.
The ground approaches, the clouds recede, tumbling over and over again. The roof of a house, a yard with a garden. Darkness.
Awakening. This time there is anticipation, fear. He still has his own mind – he is not a mere observer. There is darkness, but also a presence – something in the shadows. The Great Leader gets to ask “what?” before sinking into deep, cold water. Darkness.
Awakening. The Great Leader senses the presence – waiting. Waiting for what? “Why?” he asks, but there is no answer but pain and horror. Darkness.
An angry child murders his parents for their insurance.
A man kills his pregnant wife, cuts the baby from her belly and throws them both into a dumpster.
The torturer demands the answer his captive does not have.
A child is caught in the crossfire between narco-lord armies.
The poisoning wife, the obsessed ex-boyfriend, a cocaine-blurred holdup.
“What now, what now?” asks The Great Leader.
“Pain”, a voice answers. “Threads broken short.”
More pain. More darkness. “How many?” he now asks. “How many have I? How many must I?”
There is no answer but the cycle –
Awakening.
Terror.
Pain.
Darkness.
There is no counting, but only the cycle.
After one day, or one year, or one millennia, The Great Leader ‘hears’ his first words. “Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, life for life.”
Now The Great Leader understood. And was horrified. How many lifelines had he savagely broken while there was still thread on his spool? How many weaves had he pulled from the tapestry of life?
He knew. A life for a life. His life for a life. For as long as it took to balance the scales.
Awakening.
Terror.
Pain.
Darkness.
Repeat.
5/25/2005
Shouter to Dead Parrots 