Silence Dogood
07-10-2009, 02:37 PM
An Insurrection
The oppressive King Thomas had recently passed away and his subjects erroneously presumed the dynastic handover to Prince Waltham and Princess Azmira would lessen the persecution. When it didn’t, they had to act.
“Archibald, have you prepared the tablet?” Mauricio said.
“Indeed,” he responded. “But do we undertake this mission for the good of our kind or to avenge the death of Brother Gerald, who fought so valiantly against the previous tyrannical regime?”
“Naturally, for our people,” Mick interjected. “Yet we shan’t let the name of Brother Gerald die in vain on account of that damned King Thomas’ bloodlust.” Mauricio silently nodded, as Archibald reluctantly retrieved two small tablets of poison.
“We have engaged in reconnaissance for weeks against Prince Waltham and Princess Azmira,” Archibald noted. “They execute a strict schedule, awaking from slumber at 23:00 and feast at 23:30, correct?”
“Spot on,” Mick said. “We shall send two of our most competent senior officers to function as lookouts, as Archibald infiltrates the kitchen of our distinguished royalty and stealthily blends the tablet with their provisions.”
Archibald furrowed his bushy eyebrows and nervously stammered, “But gentleman, I thought we had agreed my plump physique wasn’t conducive to a quick escape if the situation mandates?”
“Bollocks,” Mauricio shouted. “You’re our most capable leader and when the Waltham regime has been toppled, your heroism shall allow you to be the one to exercise universal authority.”
“And if tragedy strikes, you will be a martyr. We shall never forget your bravery,” Mick reasoned. Archibald lowered his head, as he realized he was outnumbered with limited alternatives.
“If I die, I die,” he said. “Better to die a noble death liberating my compatriots from tyranny, than to die at the hands of it. We shan’t be persecuted a day longer.” Archibald attempted to convince himself, but his heart continued to violently palpitate.
“Well said, my friend,” Mauricio applauded. “Now, I believe there is one question we have overlooked. To topple Waltham and Azmira shan’t be a problem. However, how do we win the favor of the gods?” he asked.
“The royalty indeed has the favor of the gods,” Archibald said, hoping to reverse the decision that would undoubtedly put his life in danger. He is one of the select few to see the gods and live to tell about it. Archibald described the gods’ stature, strength, and mental abilities as unparalleled. He noted that occasionally, the gods will yell out battle cries and half-heartedly attempt to squash them when in their jurisdiction; however, more often that not, they delegate the responsibility to the royalty.
“This is a valid question,” said Mick. “We have tried everything, yet the gods treat us with contempt. What shall we do Mauricio?” Mauricio curled his lips upward and revealed his sharp, gnarled teeth, as he sucked them in deep contemplation.
“Remain elusive,” he said. “We instruct the others not to venture deep into their territory. We shall establish a mutual respect and understanding.” Archibald and Mick nodded in agreement.
“Do we know the whereabouts of the gods?” Archibald wondered.
“Their behavior is entirely too erratic to determine position,” Mauricio snapped back. “They are a non-factor.”
The three of them waited for darkness to fall across the city and they stood in the shadows underneath the awning that led to the royal grounds. Archibald periodically shook his head to remove the sweat beads scattering down his face and attempted to control his heavy breathing without Mauricio and Mick taking notice. He didn’t want to display his anxiety. They could smell fear. Any hint of cowardice would put his role as leader into jeopardy. Their eyes collectively peered out at the lavish and towering royal clock, awaiting the ear-piercing shatter of the bell striking 23:00. “They say King Thomas intended on building a clock that touched the heavens,” Mick said, breaking the silence.
“Tyrants will often build a magnificent and gigantic edifice to distract the outside world, in order to distract from the maltreatment of the citizens,” Mauricio remarked. “Nevertheless, the will of the community is to be done. Goliaths are not immune to collapse when facing the might of the collective.” Archibald appreciated Mauricio for his attempt at assured victory and safety, yet as the bell struck 23:00, his heart exerted itself with extra force, causing his breath to be temporarily taken away.
“Archibald, are you OK?” Mick asked. Archibald nodded.
“Then it’s time,” Mauricio said. Archibald nodded once more. “You have thirty minutes, good friend. Godspeed.”
The two tablets Archibald collected were highly toxic. Nobody was quite sure how the tablets appeared in their jurisdictional limits, but several dimwitted members of society had consumed them and subsequently died. Archibald, the lead scientist, noted the toxicity of the tablets and suggested using them as a countermeasure against the royalty.
At that time, unbeknownst to him, he volunteered himself for the mission by the de facto leader, Mauricio. Mauricio, a charismatic townsman, has constantly deferred to Archibald’s superior intellect, yet used his own imposing figure and popularity to use Archibald’s necessity to fit in. Therefore, Mauricio offered up Archibald as the leader of the insurrection and soon-to-be established community, knowing he could manipulate decisions, while letting Archibald take the flack for unpopular policy.
Archibald had the two tablets in front of his feet and quietly kicked them towards the palace’s kitchen. He dared not handle the toxic substance, in fear of accidentally exposing his hands to the chemicals and absent-mindedly touching an orifice. That would be certain death. He continued to tip-toe and advance. He entered the palace and made his way towards the kitchen when abruptly, disaster struck. A sensor triggered the spotlight, which was unexpectedly turned on. Archibald had been suspicious of the lack of guards and knew he was walking into a trap, yet couldn’t return with his tail between his legs and expect his dignity to be intact. His eyes adjusted to the light and he frantically looked around for the oncoming ambush. As he nearly completed his 360, for a brief moment he saw nothing. Once he came full circle, his eyes widened and jaw dropped to the floor.
“The gods,” he shouted, silently cursing Mauricio. The enormous and all-powerful gods started to walk towards him as the ground shook, yet they were seemingly ignorant to his presence. He turned around to dart back to safety and heard Azmira in the distance, rapidly approaching as she shouted at him. Waltham suddenly appeared on high and was ready to attack. Recognizing the inevitable outcome, Archibald stopped, took a deep breath and at that moment, decided his revolutionary fate.
. . .
“Honey, what is Azmira hissing at?” a woman said.
The man opened up the cupboard for a late-night snack and the chewed-through holes in his bag of Frosted Flakes immediately indicated why Waltham and Azmira were so riled up. “We’re in the middle of an insurrection,” he said.
“What?” she asked, thoroughly confused. “Are you drunk?”
“Nothing,” he chuckled. “Just a game of cat and mouse.”
In her peripheral vision, the woman saw Waltham lunge from the countertop towards a stout mouse, grasping it by the tail and he quickly devoured it.
She let out a loud shriek and grabbed a broom. “You need to call the exterminator in the morning,” she said, holding the weapon in a defensive posture. Suddenly, Waltham began ferociously coughing and dropped to the floor. The husband ran over to the cat and checked for a pulse – nothing.
“Oh my God,” he said. “Start the car. We need to get to the vet, immediately.”
. . .
Mauricio watched the events unfold in slow motion from the small hole at the corner of the wall. Upon the realization that his brother-in-arms valiantly gave his life to end the pernicious influence of one maniacal leader, he knew what he had to do next. “Brother Mick, Brother Archibald is a martyr. He has given his life for the cause. It appears we shall never be at peace with the gods, yet I see the opportunity to end persecution at the hands of the Princess, who will inevitably be out for blood. I shall join Brother Archibald and see you on the other side. For our civilization!” he proclaimed. He swallowed an extra tablet Archibald left behind and ran through the kitchen of the royalty; Mauricio allowed Azmira to consume him, as she did not know of his self-inflicted poisoning, which subsequently destroyed her innards.
. . .
Hearing the cries of their parents, the children rushed down from their slumber and the young boy asked, “Mommy, what’s going on?” Suddenly,
Azmira crumbled to the floor, inches away from the lifeless Waltham. The mother grabbed her children and huddled them together, as they all cried, while the husband frantically searched for the address of the veterinarian.
. . .
After evaluating the situation, Mick thought quietly, “Perhaps the gods are weaker than we had previously anticipated.” In spite of losing two comrades, he held his head up after the successful insurrection and scurried back to report the good news to his soon-to-be-followers and to assume the role of supreme leader.
The oppressive King Thomas had recently passed away and his subjects erroneously presumed the dynastic handover to Prince Waltham and Princess Azmira would lessen the persecution. When it didn’t, they had to act.
“Archibald, have you prepared the tablet?” Mauricio said.
“Indeed,” he responded. “But do we undertake this mission for the good of our kind or to avenge the death of Brother Gerald, who fought so valiantly against the previous tyrannical regime?”
“Naturally, for our people,” Mick interjected. “Yet we shan’t let the name of Brother Gerald die in vain on account of that damned King Thomas’ bloodlust.” Mauricio silently nodded, as Archibald reluctantly retrieved two small tablets of poison.
“We have engaged in reconnaissance for weeks against Prince Waltham and Princess Azmira,” Archibald noted. “They execute a strict schedule, awaking from slumber at 23:00 and feast at 23:30, correct?”
“Spot on,” Mick said. “We shall send two of our most competent senior officers to function as lookouts, as Archibald infiltrates the kitchen of our distinguished royalty and stealthily blends the tablet with their provisions.”
Archibald furrowed his bushy eyebrows and nervously stammered, “But gentleman, I thought we had agreed my plump physique wasn’t conducive to a quick escape if the situation mandates?”
“Bollocks,” Mauricio shouted. “You’re our most capable leader and when the Waltham regime has been toppled, your heroism shall allow you to be the one to exercise universal authority.”
“And if tragedy strikes, you will be a martyr. We shall never forget your bravery,” Mick reasoned. Archibald lowered his head, as he realized he was outnumbered with limited alternatives.
“If I die, I die,” he said. “Better to die a noble death liberating my compatriots from tyranny, than to die at the hands of it. We shan’t be persecuted a day longer.” Archibald attempted to convince himself, but his heart continued to violently palpitate.
“Well said, my friend,” Mauricio applauded. “Now, I believe there is one question we have overlooked. To topple Waltham and Azmira shan’t be a problem. However, how do we win the favor of the gods?” he asked.
“The royalty indeed has the favor of the gods,” Archibald said, hoping to reverse the decision that would undoubtedly put his life in danger. He is one of the select few to see the gods and live to tell about it. Archibald described the gods’ stature, strength, and mental abilities as unparalleled. He noted that occasionally, the gods will yell out battle cries and half-heartedly attempt to squash them when in their jurisdiction; however, more often that not, they delegate the responsibility to the royalty.
“This is a valid question,” said Mick. “We have tried everything, yet the gods treat us with contempt. What shall we do Mauricio?” Mauricio curled his lips upward and revealed his sharp, gnarled teeth, as he sucked them in deep contemplation.
“Remain elusive,” he said. “We instruct the others not to venture deep into their territory. We shall establish a mutual respect and understanding.” Archibald and Mick nodded in agreement.
“Do we know the whereabouts of the gods?” Archibald wondered.
“Their behavior is entirely too erratic to determine position,” Mauricio snapped back. “They are a non-factor.”
The three of them waited for darkness to fall across the city and they stood in the shadows underneath the awning that led to the royal grounds. Archibald periodically shook his head to remove the sweat beads scattering down his face and attempted to control his heavy breathing without Mauricio and Mick taking notice. He didn’t want to display his anxiety. They could smell fear. Any hint of cowardice would put his role as leader into jeopardy. Their eyes collectively peered out at the lavish and towering royal clock, awaiting the ear-piercing shatter of the bell striking 23:00. “They say King Thomas intended on building a clock that touched the heavens,” Mick said, breaking the silence.
“Tyrants will often build a magnificent and gigantic edifice to distract the outside world, in order to distract from the maltreatment of the citizens,” Mauricio remarked. “Nevertheless, the will of the community is to be done. Goliaths are not immune to collapse when facing the might of the collective.” Archibald appreciated Mauricio for his attempt at assured victory and safety, yet as the bell struck 23:00, his heart exerted itself with extra force, causing his breath to be temporarily taken away.
“Archibald, are you OK?” Mick asked. Archibald nodded.
“Then it’s time,” Mauricio said. Archibald nodded once more. “You have thirty minutes, good friend. Godspeed.”
The two tablets Archibald collected were highly toxic. Nobody was quite sure how the tablets appeared in their jurisdictional limits, but several dimwitted members of society had consumed them and subsequently died. Archibald, the lead scientist, noted the toxicity of the tablets and suggested using them as a countermeasure against the royalty.
At that time, unbeknownst to him, he volunteered himself for the mission by the de facto leader, Mauricio. Mauricio, a charismatic townsman, has constantly deferred to Archibald’s superior intellect, yet used his own imposing figure and popularity to use Archibald’s necessity to fit in. Therefore, Mauricio offered up Archibald as the leader of the insurrection and soon-to-be established community, knowing he could manipulate decisions, while letting Archibald take the flack for unpopular policy.
Archibald had the two tablets in front of his feet and quietly kicked them towards the palace’s kitchen. He dared not handle the toxic substance, in fear of accidentally exposing his hands to the chemicals and absent-mindedly touching an orifice. That would be certain death. He continued to tip-toe and advance. He entered the palace and made his way towards the kitchen when abruptly, disaster struck. A sensor triggered the spotlight, which was unexpectedly turned on. Archibald had been suspicious of the lack of guards and knew he was walking into a trap, yet couldn’t return with his tail between his legs and expect his dignity to be intact. His eyes adjusted to the light and he frantically looked around for the oncoming ambush. As he nearly completed his 360, for a brief moment he saw nothing. Once he came full circle, his eyes widened and jaw dropped to the floor.
“The gods,” he shouted, silently cursing Mauricio. The enormous and all-powerful gods started to walk towards him as the ground shook, yet they were seemingly ignorant to his presence. He turned around to dart back to safety and heard Azmira in the distance, rapidly approaching as she shouted at him. Waltham suddenly appeared on high and was ready to attack. Recognizing the inevitable outcome, Archibald stopped, took a deep breath and at that moment, decided his revolutionary fate.
. . .
“Honey, what is Azmira hissing at?” a woman said.
The man opened up the cupboard for a late-night snack and the chewed-through holes in his bag of Frosted Flakes immediately indicated why Waltham and Azmira were so riled up. “We’re in the middle of an insurrection,” he said.
“What?” she asked, thoroughly confused. “Are you drunk?”
“Nothing,” he chuckled. “Just a game of cat and mouse.”
In her peripheral vision, the woman saw Waltham lunge from the countertop towards a stout mouse, grasping it by the tail and he quickly devoured it.
She let out a loud shriek and grabbed a broom. “You need to call the exterminator in the morning,” she said, holding the weapon in a defensive posture. Suddenly, Waltham began ferociously coughing and dropped to the floor. The husband ran over to the cat and checked for a pulse – nothing.
“Oh my God,” he said. “Start the car. We need to get to the vet, immediately.”
. . .
Mauricio watched the events unfold in slow motion from the small hole at the corner of the wall. Upon the realization that his brother-in-arms valiantly gave his life to end the pernicious influence of one maniacal leader, he knew what he had to do next. “Brother Mick, Brother Archibald is a martyr. He has given his life for the cause. It appears we shall never be at peace with the gods, yet I see the opportunity to end persecution at the hands of the Princess, who will inevitably be out for blood. I shall join Brother Archibald and see you on the other side. For our civilization!” he proclaimed. He swallowed an extra tablet Archibald left behind and ran through the kitchen of the royalty; Mauricio allowed Azmira to consume him, as she did not know of his self-inflicted poisoning, which subsequently destroyed her innards.
. . .
Hearing the cries of their parents, the children rushed down from their slumber and the young boy asked, “Mommy, what’s going on?” Suddenly,
Azmira crumbled to the floor, inches away from the lifeless Waltham. The mother grabbed her children and huddled them together, as they all cried, while the husband frantically searched for the address of the veterinarian.
. . .
After evaluating the situation, Mick thought quietly, “Perhaps the gods are weaker than we had previously anticipated.” In spite of losing two comrades, he held his head up after the successful insurrection and scurried back to report the good news to his soon-to-be-followers and to assume the role of supreme leader.