The King of Peace

A parade day. A celebration day. A mandatory day of patriotism. All across our great nation festivities will be going on. Towns will scramble to make it the grandest day in the history of days, by decree. And the Masks will be checking to ensure it is, never you worry.

The Supreme Leader has denounced the heads of other states, railed against them, and then belittled and brushed away their opinions. What does it matter to us, the greatest nation, what our neighbors and weak allies have to say? They do not have the guidance or grit that we do. They do not have our enlightenment. So, since the Supreme Leader has so wrongfully been denied the International Prize of Peace by the backwards, other nations, he has declared a far superior appointment for himself. Or at least, through the mouthpiece of our senate he has. A unanimous vote of course. And today, the senate, on behalf of the adoring people, will present him with his glorious crown of peace. It’s been all over the news, the daily broadcasts, the personal feeds. A golden crown, nearly the size of a man’s head itself, packed to bursting with gems. Gems brought back from the nations where our soldiers march. It must weigh a ton, but the Supreme Leader is so strong, and manly, he surely won’t even notice.

At least our cowardly, ignorant neighbor nations have the decency to keep their gems locked away, tightly tucked out of sight and out of mind. It wasn’t enough for the Supreme Leader to gild his palace in gold; now he will have more of it.

I’m at the parade ground early. I will be seen in the front, cheering and roaring with the best of them. The Masks will be watching after all. All of us lucky enough to see the grand event in person. It fills up quickly, with all the people of the capitol. And others, the Supreme Leader’s most faithful, jumping down from trucks and interspersing themselves among us locals. It should start soon. You can hear the tanks being lined up in the distance for the grand showing of our might. The best parade ever seen. The music starts, and on cue the crowd begins to cheer, raising our voices and waving our flags like our lives depend on it.

There’s a commotion, at the front of the row across the street from me. A group of people have pulled from their pockets paper crowns. The shape and design of the Supreme Leader’s Crown of Peace. Except instead of gems, their crowns are studded with pictures. Tanks in the jungle, boots in the desert, blood on our own streets. And they wear them with their heads held high.

The Masks have noticed. They start pulling the crowned protesters out of the line, dragging them into the streets. They don’t struggle. Their hands up. I wonder what will happen once they’re dragged away. But they’re not being dragged away. The Masks shove them to their knees, right there in the street. Someone in an official looking suit is yelling at them to stop, pointing at the cameras broadcasting to the nation. But the Masks don’t care. They cannot be reined in. They are sharks who have scented blood. One of them pulls out a gun and clubs a woman in the head with it. One of her companion shouts, moving to help her, and the gun goes off. I duck down, covering my head with my arms. For a few, breath holding moments, all I can hear is the bang, bang, bang, of the guns. And then it’s over. Another picture for the crown.

They have to hurry now. Drag the mangled bodies away. Wash away all the glistening, condemnatory blood. So that our beloved Supreme Leader can be crowned the King of Peace.