And so he spewed forth again. A stew of biled words erupting from his mouth, inciting the hatred that he wished in all of us. His mouth was self-assured, dripping with confidence, bullets of sweat strewing off his brow onto the stage; cartridges from the ammunition he fired at all the evils of this world. A religious man. A corrupted man. It decorated his neck. His fingers. His hair slicked back with a perfumed glaze of whale fat. His shoes were scuffless. His skin was pale white. His tie was a clip on, but was well hidden under his white collared, sky blue shirt. To ensure his seriousness in the crowd, he had his jacket unbuttoned. Each time he clenched his fist to shake the arm of authority at his audience, a ripple moved through his entire body. He was well fed. Better fed than most. Better fed than all those in the crowd.
The woman beside me didn’t notice me reaching under my chair; a high arched easel-type method of torture that forced a posturing gaze as their leader, that is, when they were allowed to open their eyes. It was a terrific piece of craftsmanship that made a noticeably defiant squeak with each movement that he had not given them. My chair did not squeak, and so I reached. I reached for the eight-inch shiv of copper-wire fastened plexiglass. If I was going to kill this bastard, I was going to make him suffer. The edge was serrated by circumstance, not by design. The woman next to me remained unshaken from her teary eyed trance. How could an entire crowd of people stay so calm during his roaring? I looked behind me, then left, then right, then in front, ensuring that all had their eyes shut. The commune pink of my robe made the shiv noticeable, but I was well hidden behind their prayer.
My nerves shook. It was time. Three years. Three years of lies. Three years of bullshit. Three years of infiltration. Now was the time. To cut the head off the rodent and watch from his blood the poison of reason clash with his masses. I only wish I could stare the bastard in the eye. Not surprise him with the sight of death, but watch him as he cowers in fear at his imminent demise. I have never known bloodlust, never seen warfare or combat, nor have I killed more than two at once, but I seethe at the sight of this man. I have never wanted to kill someone more. Never wanted to strangle someone more; watch the life leave his eyes, then let him take a breath, and then choke him near-death again. I want him to know the pain of his people, the agony of self-inflicted suffering. I want him to be afraid, to cower, to lose all hope in his own cause. I want to watch him bleed out. And just before he dies, I want him to see me, ablaze with the blood of their leader, setting each person free. I am invincible after today. Dying would be a welcome return back to sanity. And so it is time.