Usurper

Usurper

         There was a solemn stride in the way that he walked to the podium. Even though he carried around a cane, he had no real need for it, other than the aura of prestige that it gave him, in accordance of the fact that it repented for the unspeakable age in which he currently rested at. Nay, this cane was more on an execution device for the fanatics that spat upon the tyrannous dynasty that this man had taken so much effort to claim. The cane was a slayer of those who still believed in the old world of the United States.

         Digressing from the cane, the whole world was fastened tight to their seats, remote controls shaking in hand, not wanting to hear what foul news – portrayed as good, none-the-less – would be soon spewing out of our ruler’s mouth. The anticipation of his travel to the microphones at the stand could be easily compared to a complete train wreck. It was the sort of thing in which you didn’t wish to stare any longer, but you couldn’t bear to look away, simply because of the fact that his sluggish march became so engrossing and intoxicating.

         As the elders may remember, the seal of the United States would ordinarily be behind the president as he made a speech or a statement of some kind about a catastrophe here or some cataclysmic event happening over there. Never-the-less, that proud banner had been altered long ago. It was no longer the president who stood before us, but that usurper of the world. The very man who struck a blow to every nation’s nervous systems, paralyzing them under his own manipulative control. Nor did the seemingly everlasting banner of the United States shine brightly behind him, but an emblem which had “SOP” engraved upon it, along with “Syndicate of Power” writ below it.

         Nobody sponsored or endorsed the dictator of dictators before our sights. Even if they had said they did, this was merely an illusion to prevent any provocation to the usurper’s wrath. He was a vicious man, even though he looked no older than 18, and his diluted sense of justice was swifter than anything else. Men and women who resided upon death row, waiting years, if not decades, for their execution date, now found their time whittled down to days, if not hours.

         Alas, this was only the beginning of misdeeds and hardships. From the moment this man took over our nation, he threatened others with nuclear strikes and infiltration, regardless of whether or not there was a prompt of irritation or provocation. Discarding of all morals for any nation that saw fit to disobey what they saw as a simplistic, egotistical, and juvenile leader, – whom they also believed would soon be assassinated for his treachery – the usurper became agitated and impatient, following through with his ploys, and setting all of Ex-Russia, Former Middle East, Fell Asia, and parts of the Africa Union into the abysmal reaches of nuclear winter. Those parts are only now host livable conditions to people who dwell in containment domes.

         I suppose it would be quite unwise if I were to continue referring to the unchallenged leader of the world as an “Usurper”. He is much better defined as an “Administrator” of sorts. As a matter of fact, that is precisely what he had commanded every civilian on the globe to call him. It’s not President, Captain, Commander, Dictator, Leader, Ruler, King, or by any other type which commonly depicts a level of power normally ordained by the highest rank within a civilization or a government. It’s simply “Administrator”. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like he detests his name, or has some sort of complex which requires him to instinctively command others to call him such, but it is merely canon that nature did not bestow him with a name at all. Parents, relatives, friends, and any other connection to him and his personal life have been all but eradicated.

         Moving away from the whole issue of what his rank should be properly called, it is a unanimous opinion that the man standing before us, looking through every television in the world and into every single soul with a searing gaze. This fiend is one who has been dubbed by all humanity as “The Scariest Administrator Ever”. This being was on par with Caligula, Stalin, Hitler, Vlad, Nero, and other infamous leaders who were bent on ruling their denizens by fear and cruelty.

         His build was rigid. The suit he wore was bloodied and sun-beaten, as if he had spent months out in the open, attacking and murdering any person in his sight with a meat cleaver. In discordance with his hateful and disturbing attire, his hair was perfectly combed, cropped, and trimmed. The oddest thing about the Administrator was that he seemed to be an albino, but not quite there. His skin was a sickly pain, emphasizing his slender, muscle-less build. Just the same, juxtaposed to his skin rested his hair, whiter than the finest of pearls.

However, as if to contradict the notion that the Administrator were albino by birthright, his left iris was a solid black color, darker than a moonless night. A soulless eye, capable of drilling fear into the hearts and minds of shadows and demons. The right iris was a horrific, corrosive crimson color. This was the color of red which scarred souls with its burning flames, and disturbing the children whom were watching from their cross-legged or lounging positions on the floor, idly playing with their toy.

         Then there was the subject of his mouth and nose. His nose was jagged and thin, but straight as far as base structure went. The mouth was the most ghastly part about his entire face. Ordinarily, he wears a menacing, teeth-engraved piece of metal to place over the fleshy mess which comprises of his mouth. The metal mouth-mask was eerie to look at, especially since his disturbingly high, child-like voice shone through it, without any movements for bystanders to place alongside it.

         It was this day though, when he determined it was a good idea to remove the mouth cover, and protrude the true lower half of his face. It was a montage of burnt flesh, causing him to have no lips, and a small portion of his cheeks. His teeth gleamed at you, even though he had his mouth “closed”, and a wreckage of teeth, skewed at different angles and intervals managed to hold fast to his gums, long enough to scare every last man, woman, and child.

         “Fellow residents of the world,” He began his speech. “I am magnificently delighted to tell you that I have constructed a plan which will allow me to determine who our enemies are, who should be punished in this world, and which groups will have a change made to their lives, either for the better or for the worst.” Everybody ruled under the maniacal “SOP” government had to have been taking a deep, fearful swallow at this point. The Administrator was notorious for inventing ways of cruel and unusual punishment, all very inventive and sinister by nature.

         Don’t be fooled, it’s not as if people haven’t tried to assassinate the Administrator before. It’s been attempted dozens of times, but the fact of the matter is, is that the man is so heavily guarded, armored, and protected against harm, that an assassin’s bullet would have to pass through a billion body guards before it could even be CONSIDERED “close” to killing the leader of all the world. Hundreds, nay… thousands of brave men and women have been armed with sniper rifles, high powered explosives, and other tactical killing devices, but alas, they have all wound up in body bags.

         Children were often times shooed out of the room when the Administrator stood up to the podium and made a speech. Every speech was one that gave false hope, broken dreams, and horrific paranoia back to the denizens on each of the 7 continents.
“A lottery!” The Administrator boomed, his red and black eyes widening to a point of a deranged owl’s. “We have several categories for punishment; Genocide, pay cuts, tax increase, removal of possessions, forced suicide, jail time for life, immense torture, and much more!” A board much like one somebody would find on the ancient, long past show of Jeopardy popped up behind the administrator, with the categories for punishment scrawled across the top, each one in possession of its ominous column.
“To further explain how this works, I would like to inform you all that I have a vat, with dozens of pieces of paper. Each piece of paper has a word on it… and each word pertains to a specific racial, social, or economic group!” He raised his hands high like a delighted kindergartener and grinned an immense smile, his sickly tongue lashing out between toothy gaps.

         Gasps could be heard everywhere. From sea to shining sea, people were alarmed by this new announcement. Punishments had been bad before, but after today, they would be off the charts. Families now cowered within their residences. Even the homeless who managed to not be shot by the anti-homeless forces and overheard the announcement through the air or by viewing it through the local TV shop were falling to their knees, weeping in misery.

         The tension and suspense was unbearable. Chattering teeth and shaking bodies rippled throughout the cities. It was after a few more seconds, once the populous calmed down even a slight amount, when the Administrator spoke up.
“Let the drawing begin!” He screeched. A raggedy top hat was brought to him by an agent on his left side. After digging around, the Administrator paused. “Oh that’s right, I forgot.” He said in an insulting tone, mocking the people of New Earth. “We have yet to disclose what category I will be picking for.” He turned his back to the podium and glanced at the board, then turned back a few seconds later.
“I know you’re all jittery to know who gets the “Genocide” category, so I’ll tell you RIGHT NOW!” He plunged his hand into the hand, immersing it in the papers, and pulled it back out a second later with a small slip of paper. “Caucasians! Listen up to all you white folks out there! After the rest of the drawing is complete, an order to hunt down and kill you all will be issued! Been nice sharing the planet with you.” After he said that, he winked into the camera, maintaining his grin.
“As for forced suicide, that command goes out to the ‘High and Rich’ social and economic classes. See ya guys!” The Administer laughed as he continued to pull out additional slips of paper.

         One by one, the board filled up. Hispanics, Blacks, Whites, Asians, Rich, Poor, Sick, Well, Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Men, Women, Young, Old, and just about every other group of people imaginable were afflicted in some way, shape, or form. After all the groups on the planet were assigned a punishment for the year, the Administrator took a pregnant sigh of relief and further pause.
“Well then, I do believe – according to the chart behind me anyways, - that the cameraman filming me… so happens to be white!” With that, the Administers’ eyes widened to unprecedented proportions, along with his smile. Upon grinning, he unsheathed the body of his cane, revealing a long, blackened blade, stained with bloodied rust. He rushed around the podium and jumped offstage, hurling himself towards the camera, seemingly coming straight into our TV rooms.

         With a hack and a slash, we heard the Administrator laughing. The view we saw on our television was bloodied by the death of the camera man. Even though the camera had toppled to the ground, we saw the frantic legs of civilians running, with the crazed limbs of the Administrator soon behind them. Some were caught in the genocide. Others were forced to commit suicide, and some had their children taken away, while some were forced to forfeit their clothing and personal belongings. All this while the Administer was laughing hysterically.

I’m afraid the hunt has begun.