In the beginning, there was nothing but ideas. The conflicting, polarised ideologies born out of the ashes of an ineffective and useless establishment. In the beginning, there were many; vying for power over the long table of alleged cooperation at which they sat. Proposed resolutions were stifled, suppressed by the crippling disenchantment and desperation which gathered momentum at an unregulated speed. 'Rise', they willed him silently with their indifference. And so he rose.
'Let there be light,' he said, and there was light. Millions saw it, few condemned it; for indeed it would have been foolish to condemn such a positive development. And he basked in it, glowing in the sunshine that peeked behind the clouds of crisis for the first time in an eternity. He stood, willingly, in the midst of it all- his arms outretched and long hair blowing in the breeze of reignited hope. They looked up at him, and he saw that the light was good.
And they would disappear. His words were enough to dissolve even his most vehement of critics; they lined up to take their turn, fledgling and grasping at thin air, before withering away in shame. But no! This was not the case- they did not 'wither away', and there was certainly no shame. Quite simply, they disappeared- thrown into a truck never to be seen again, pushed through the doors of their offices with a dagger in their backs and a formidable note placed between their teeth, for all their colleagues to see. For him, a critic was but meat for his private army. Indeed, where words failed (incidentally a regular occurence), violence spoke on his behalf, with a booming and commanding and sinister voice.
With his midas touch, everything was gold. A glowing and glistening trail seemed to follow him about as he surveyed his vast kingdom, the houses and schools growing brighter in his wake. Those who were unable to live, lived. Those who could not work, worked. And those who continued to oppose him, continued to disappear. He galvanised those who could not be galvanised, revived those who could not be revived. The sun shone to its maximum, and they saw that the light was good.
By now, there was nothing but him. The single, rigid party line to which all his ministers adhered, gave him all the licence he had craved for so long. And, with his new-found omnipotency, he went in search of more power, succumbing to an innate craving for ultimate supremacy. The unreachable cup of glory was only just out of the grasp of his blood-stained fingers. And so, he took his men, and went to war.
They dropped like flies, fell like stones in water. In their millions, together in battle, fighting for their leader. And those at home began to ask questions. The clouds of uncertainty appeared again, rekindling an hitherto unknown fear in their hearts and minds. The truth rained upon them, in a thunderstorm of revelation and revolution.
* * *
He's on his knees, hands tied behind his back and head shaved sloppily. The executioner stands behind him wearing a mask, cluthing his axe tightly. It is almost time. The leader looks up at the millions gathered around to watch with eyes wide open- his ministers (or those who are still alive) are at the front, with a look of pity and disassociation. The masses are shouting, screaming for his head, and the executioner will readily oblige. He leans forward and whispers in the man's ear, 'last words, sire?'
The leader looks up for a last time at his people and shrugs with a nonchalant resignation.
'Let there be light,' he says, and with a swing of the axe behind him, the world goes black.