Read “The Country/The Country”: When Followers of Would-be Tyrant Mr. Pig March on the Capital, They Are Met by “A Wall of Flesh”
We’re in the final week of postings from my serial novel “The Country/The Country,” a political thriller/fantasy inspired by the calamitous election of 2016.
In s segment posted yesterday, the followers of the would-be tyrant Mr. Pig march on the Capital to install their candidate as the country’s new leader. But they run into “a wall of flesh” woven together by the seer Mrs. Nathan from the willing bodies of Pig’s opponents, who deny them their goal. Still, Citizen Keel, who has debated with Pig while hearing the strong, silent voice of Mrs. Nathan in his thoughts, knows that he has a part to play in the outcome of this confrontation in the Capital.
See https://www.inkitt.com/stories/thriller/226757/chapters/46 … Only one more climactic segment after this in “The Country/The Country,” before the Nov. 6 election. Please Share.
Two Brief Excerpts:
From Chapter 46:
Wisdom bloomed on the street corners. The faint of heart grew strong and stubborn and full of their own certain course. Knives were sharpened. Women and men of a certain age kissed their loved ones and bought tickets to places they had never set eyes on, where they knew no one, and were met in travel stations by grinning faces holding huge placards stating “Vote for–” with the names of former, long forgotten candidates X-ed out and their own names, the names of the new race of far-travelers written in permanent marker in their place.
Others called it a war, a revolution, a civil upheaval, a popular explosion, an aroused citizenry, a potentially irreconcilable division, a national heart attack….
From Chapter 49: The Place of Pools
People were falling into the pools.
The wall closed in around the trapped and panicking Pigglies. Obeying a psychically enhanced series of signals, the arcs closest to the encircled victims slipped a half step forward, every body moving at once, squeezing the trapped bodies like the coils of a many-headed constrictor.
The ‘installation’ paraders shouted, demanded, grieved, cried protests, wailed oaths and threats, balled their fingers into fists.
The army of the opposition, arms now firmly locked, gazed back without expression in obeisance to The Rule of Silence. Their faces were bland, unemotional. They did not avoid the eyes of the Pigglie marchers, but they didn’t stare either. They followed their training. They were bricks in a wall. Cells in a body that was knitting itself back up, after a wound.
“I’m warning you!”
Voices raised. But the threats sounded hollow to the ears of those who made them.
Pigglies looked to their neighbors for support, direction, an answer, but seeing in the neighbors only a reflection of their own confusion, sank a half step back.
A woman shouted.
Splashes were heard.
The water in the twelve basins of the Place of Pools was not deep. Two and a half feet of water, approximately, a little less in some places. It would be hard to drown in one, so long as you remained conscious after you went in. But if you fell awkwardly, hit your head, your might be in trouble…
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