It’s not what you say

As he walked onto stage, the gathering erupted in applause. He was the hero who’d save them from the hellish fate their previous leader had cast upon them.

He took it all in, aware of the exuberance he emitted and the effect his mere presence had on these fools.

Fools who believed his words, and swallowed his well-construced speeches without thought. He once again spoke about his plans to “expand the economy, and enrich the ecosystem.”

The crowed cheered him as their leader, unknowing he’d lead them to their destruction.

It wasn’t his ideas that swayed them, but his delivery.

National duty

Mina stepped out of their hut to discard leftover gruel. It was Sunday, and she’d prepare fresh gruel for the week. She searched the bushes for edible plants. Her son liked his gruel with boiled vegetables, but ever since the government arrested her husband for treason, they lived off the scraps she made from fishing by the sea shore.

Meanwhile in the palace, a surly man sporting a mahogany moustache looked at the man crouching in front of him. “What, Muttu?”

“Sir, the fishermen are here.”

“Well done!” The governor smiled through his moustache. “You’ll be rewarded for your collaboration.”

Bits of paper

Approaching the counter at the same time, both men gestured the other to go ahead. After a brief hesitance, the shorter took the offer. Middle-aged and suited, he smiled with ease—unperturbed by jet lag. His shoes glossy, walk steady, and stance authoritative, he nodded to the woman who smiled, handing him his US passport.

The taller man was suited, too—a corporate passenger attending an event. He appeared younger than the other, but with shoes as shiny and a walk just as confident. With a curt smile, “Please scan your bag.” the woman said before returning his middle eastern passport.