Gunshots ring across the city square.
Bread is tossed in the air.
A pickle flops from its jar onto the ground like a foundering fish.
They’re down; and covered in brains; and bleeding for their lives.
Out of the dust steps a woman wearing crosshairs and pointing, not at the dead and dying, but at herself — as the fouled object of derision and disrespect — and she’s unfathomably angry not at the shooter, but at the rest of the world.
A gasping globe mocks her continued lack of a human harmonic as she spins wailing tales into a vendetta victory of the dead.
She quits and claims leadership.
She claims she’s been blood libeled in the still-wet blood of fallen others.
Will she ever wipe the blood from her jaw?
Or will she continue to bite her lip to smear false libel across her teeth?
Great story, David — and painfully true!
We must always be wary of her because “not noticing” what she does only gives her an escape into the middle.