A flash fiction dealing with an ornery old man and his issues with the invaders. |
Coffee with the Emperor Howard eats his meat rare and consumes plenty of salt. Not because he likes it, but because his doctors suggest he do otherwise. He drives considerably slower than the speed limit and considers the blaring horns and aggravated drivers shining marks of achievement. Above all else, he can never be mistaken. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you have to say; he is always right. One time he was convinced that it was Thursday, even though it was actually Monday. When the teller at his local bank tried to correct him, Howard furrowed his bushy white eyebrows and in a toothless slur began to berate and insult the poor man until the teller believed that he might actually have been mistaken. Perhaps it was Thursday after all. Therefore, it came as no surprise that when the earth’s military had been defeated and the invaders had declared themselves the rulers of the planet that Howard had something to say. It wasn’t altruism that motivated him. The scattered remains of his neighborhood didn’t faze him. And the broken-spirited people that were left behind in the aftermath didn’t have any effect on him either. The battle had claimed the diner that Howard had frequented for the past thirty years and he would not have that. So there he stood, balancing feebly upon his walker, in front of the newly constructed Hall of Conquerors. The structure towered over him as he stubbornly wrestled his way up the steep stairs. Colors shimmered across the building radiating with a soft glow that filled the early night air. In the shadows just outside the reach of the light a crowd began to gather, murmuring amongst themselves. Who was this man that dared to defy the mandates set forward? After some time Howard surmounted the stairs and began to hobble toward the imposing doors. The guards moved forward to impede his progress, but halted suddenly in their tracks. It seemed as though instructions to allow Howard through had been received through a transmitter in their ears. The guards stepped aside, watching Howard intently. He scowled at each in turn as he slowly limped by. When he approached the doors they slid back into the walls granting him access to the hall. The walls glimmered with an artificial light. Banners and oddly shaped weapons had been hung upon them, each with unique qualities that told stories of cultures long gone. To Howard, they may as well not have existed; his attention was focused solely on the large shape sitting on the throne at the far end of the room. Without rising from his throne the self-appointed emperor spoke: “Have you brought no gifts or offerings?” Howard stopped in his tracks, a look of befuddlement washed over his deeply creased face. “Now why would I do such a thing?” “To show your appreciation for my mercy, of course. I thought that’s why you were here.” “Heck no, I’m here ‘cause I wanta know who’s going to take responserbility for fixing up Jenny’s diner. Where’m I s’posed to get my coffee in the mornin’?” “Then you aren’t an emissary of your people?” “No, but listen here, if ya think for a moment that just because everyone’s scared’a ya that I’m gonna sit around an’ take it, you’ve got another thing comin’.” “And you aren’t a leader or someone of great consequence to this world?” the Emperor said coolly. “’Course I ain’t. They’re a buncha whack jobs, but ne’ermind that. Back in my day if somebody was takin’ over a world they’d a’least have death ra…” The movement of the Emperor’s hand was practically unnoticeable, but in an instant Howard was transformed into a pile of ash. The Emperor struck another button on the arm of his throne and said, “There’s some cleaning that needs to be done in the Great Hall.” “Right away, sir,” came the tinny reply on the intercom system. “Is there anything else, sir?” “Actually there is. I’m suddenly in the mood for a cup of coffee.” “Certainly, sir.” |