BOOTLICKER

Intentions

2008-04-15

A small white room and a wooden table. The first man was shown his seat before most of the people who had just entered left.

A dark room. An orange light sprawled and licked at the wall’s faces and drew dark shadows in their corners.

Three people, just as many chairs. The man in green uniform snuffed out his cigarette and relaxed into the tiny chair. The third man rested an arm on the table and drew in a long, careful breath of air.

For a long time no-one said anything.

“You frustrate us,” the third man hid his face from the light of the lantern on the table. “When will this end?”

A smile found refuge in the corners of the first man’s mouth.

“You know I find this whole business hilarious.”

The other two stared in disbelief at the first.

He continued, “Your kind constructs mighty mechanical beasts of warfare and destruction and murder the millions of my people you haven’t maimed, tortured and enslaved. Your kind crushes the spirit of your own people, including my own through an obsession with persecution and exacting justice.

“You are the people responsible for the abuse of so much power, yet when you meet your match your advertised principles abandon you and you come crawling to me.”

The second man moved uncomfortably in his seat, “We will crush you,” he spat. “We will erase your very existence from the velum of history. I myself will exact justice upon your crimes and that of your people.”

“You better watch what comes out of that mouth of yours, or I might now guarantee your safe return,” the second man glared.

“Neither of you seem to understand, gentlemen,” the first man chuckled. “Your mighty army is at the mercy of the will of my people, and hitherto is in no position to make such childish threats.”

“You fool!”

The chair beneath the second man removed itself and a door flung itself open. A man paced quickly down the cement corridor outside, and after a few brief moments, he screamed.

The third man moved into the dark corridor, to be met by the third. Both of them turned to the first man, still seated, his gazed fixated on the warm glow of the kerosene lantern.

“What in God’s name have you done?” The second man screamed, throwing over the wooden table and starting a kerosene fire on the cold, wet floor.

“I’ve created a God.”