The wind whistled
sharply as an unidentifiable brown object sailed through the air; there was a
moment, when the target’s heart skipped a beat, he ducked down and the object,
now visible as a shoe, missed him, landing with a memorable ‘thwack’ on his
country’s flag instead. That is how it all started - with a shoe. Or you could
say - it all ended with the shoe. It all depends, really, on what occurs next.
There are a people with
strength in both values and number that none could stand up against. However,
they are sunk in a pungent viscous mess like a swamp, and the oppression of the
odor and the atmosphere has deadened their senses and souls. They fear to reach
out into the darkness, not knowing that dry land or thousands of other humans with
the same fears and doubts in their lonely hearts might be right beside them. There
are a few, who dare to raise their voice above the murmur, but they are stifled,
even as they clear their throats, and sucked down into perdition.
But the others are
not completely blind. Though the stench and mist obscure their vision, they can
see the awful tortures inflicted upon their fellows, they can hear the last
shouts and pleas, as hundreds upon hundreds vanish simply because they sought
to make sense of their surroundings or struggled to emerge from the bog trapping
their limbs and their essence. They notice the whirring machines that are
approaching and slowly surrounding them, the threats on the millions of ardent
faces - eager to annihilate them, though they have been degraded and have shrunk
to this small bubbling mass of isolated entities.
And then the hand
appears like Nimue’s ready to hand Caliburn to the King - and the shoe is
thrown. They are stirred. They awaken. Fury breaks into their hearts, blood
frothing and dashing against its chambers. Roaring and gnashing their teeth in
anger, they find the strength to emerge from the swamp and sweep like a wave
over the land, crushing the enemy with a multitude of weapon: ink, swords,
guns, pebbles, money, voices, power, prayers and even… shoes. For amazing as it
may seem, they had always had all these and more weapons in their command;
however, sunk in a debilitating stupor, they had merely not been using them.
On the other hand,
watching the few, who dare to defy the superficial powers that seem to rule the
world, the rest of them are scared and shrink and cower further into the smelly
bog, burying their heads deep like ostriches into the sand. At the sound of the
oncoming machines, they shiver, tremble and wail but refuse to think and listen.
However, when the shoe is thrown, they feel stirred for a moment but soon
return to their groveling positions, aping the people who, though essentially
weaker than them, hold at this moment the position of power.
The attack begins. At
the sound of the guns, they scatter even further than before, striking
helplessly at the thick, horrible gel that binds them but always intending to
escape alone, make their own way and reach what safety there is, if safety
there is at all in such a world. And due to this selfish seclusion of their
minds, they can neither escape nor fight back - they are massacred in that
small, evil-smelling place that becomes a mound of decaying carcasses… only
because they did not clear the cobwebs from their musty brains and emerge, when
they had the chance.
The shoe has been
thrown several times and will probably be thrown a few more. But in every game,
lives are limited - there are only so many chances we will get, and if we do
not take them, then this is how it could end.
