James walked back to center
stage, grabbed the microphone, and breathed in his audience, still showering
him with their adoration. He
milked the emotion for all he could, gathering their strength to him. The more built up they were on a cold
day, he figured, the better. He
wasn’t going to get far on a following of unresponsive disciples. After a few more minutes he decided
that his name and presence had gotten as far as they were likely to on their
own. He put the microphone to his
mouth and screamed: “Nos Populus!”
The crowd’s volume picked up
and only after he could feel them plateau did James continue, “America!” And a new high was set as James turned to the statue behind
him, “Mr. President.” This time a
small groan rose from the crowd.
“I know that one’s been done before, but I couldn’t resist. If nothing else, it’s nice to be able
to have some modicum of respect for the person you’re addressing with that
title. This is said a lot in any
context, so I have some hesitation saying it at all, but… we’re coming to a turning
point. Now the problem with that
being said all the time is that you keep hearing it and it never feels like a
turning point because it never is.
Then when a real turning point arrives, you let it slide by and miss it
because you heard ‘wolf’ one too many times. But believe me now, a turning point is coming.” The crowd roared its approval of James’
promise.
“A couple hours ago I saw the
sun come up and I felt something different in the air. It was small but it was there. A premonition of the potential for big
things to come. So I called you
here to tell you about it. Now
seeing thousands of you packing in, rubbing against each other to get some
warmth—and I hope nothing more, there are children here, people—I get the
feeling that there may be a hell of a lot more than the potential for change.
And the best way to generate change is to set an example. So let it be shouted throughout the
land that from this moment forth, Nos Populus is going to do things a tad
differently. From now on, we’re
not relying on the Democrats.” Scattered boos answered the
namedrop. “We’re going to have our
own issues, and our own candidates and we will decide what the public discourse
will be! And that begins now!” The assembled congregation screamed yet
again. But not yet ready for his
audience to boil, James paused and let them simmer.
“Now I know we all thought that
that turning point was supposed to be last fall, but it didn’t happen. While I’m here, I should probably
address the ‘election.’” Another small chorus of boos rippled
forward. “I know,” James
acknowledged them. “Believe me,
I’m with you. Now, there are those
who would have you believe that in November, Americans went to their polling
places and chose to ‘stay the course.’
That we said to ourselves on Election Day, ‘Gee, I really like what’s
been going on the past eight years.
We’re no better off as a nation, with international threats mounting and
the nation dividing further internally.
And I’m no better off as an individual, with my e-mails being read for
me by government operatives and my natural human rights stripped from me as if
I never cared for them in the first place. But I really think that what my president couldn’t complete
in eight years, he will if I give him four more.’ That we said, ‘I like living in a state of fear. I like it so much that I’m too afraid
to change that.’ Hear me now: we
did no. Such. Thing!” On cue, a roar went up from the
thousands gathered around the reflecting pool.
“We all know what happened last
November; how Hornung the Liberal was decimated by the divinely-appointed
President Ward. See, the way I see
it, the man who represented the Democrats on the ballot was not the man we
chose. The man we chose was a man
who represented something, represented us! But somewhere along the line Hornung
lost his backbone and something always defeats nothing. There are those who would also have you
believe that Ward’s victory in November gives him a mandate to do with what he
will. That he has been entitled to
certain privileges as commander in chief.
If you ask Ward himself—and he’d be just too happy to respond—he would
say that those entitlements include the right to keep each American a prisoner
in his own country. That because
he’s responsible for keeping people safe so he’s going to lock each one of us
up in our homes and throw away the key.
‘Don’t worry about your mail and errands, the secret police will be more
than happy to take care of those for you.
Just sit back, drink the Kool-Aid, go to sleep, and come back to vote
for me again in four years.’
“I think this country belongs to
us! And I think that when we’re
pissed we should say something because it’s damn sure bad for you to keep that
kind of thing in! And the best
person to tell would be the man in charge, no? Tell him that we are not the Democrats, we are not Morris
Hornung! Something always defeats
nothing and we’ll give them something.
I think we should make the first official act of the Nos Populus Party to
do just that! What do you
think?” The volume reached a fever
pitch; the ground below them could’ve trembled and they’d never know the
difference.
“You hear that, Dennis? You
hear it, fucker?” he screeched into the microphone. “Dust off the welcome mat, we’re coming
over!”
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