“Greetings, Philadelphia. I’m so glad you could make it to our little soiree.”
The crowd roared with approval. He allowed the applause to resonate until it naturally subsided, before continuing.
“I won’t keep you long, Philly. I know you didn’t come here for a lecture. You came here for some action, or perhaps reaction. I know I certainly did. I’ve been watching you, and the time for talk and weak-handed protests in this city is long past over.
I’ve watched as your leaders have stood idly by while your families starve in the streets. They can afford to send out thugs to evict you and your children from your homes, but they can’t afford to feed your hungry? How long do you have to suffer while they sleep comfortably in their beds with their pampered families safely down the hall? Is this what you expect from your city? Is this what you expect from your country?”
“No!” The crowd roared back in unison.
He questioned the crowd acrimoniously, “No?”
“No!”
“They fly their war toys – their drones – over your city like you’re rats. Vermin! Detritus! Waiting to be tossed out! They follow your every move and question your every motive. ‘Papers, please!’ they demand. As if you owe them anything! What do you owe them?”
“Nothing!”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing!”
“If they don’t approve of your actions, they kick down your door and assault your freedom – that is, if you even have a home anymore. For the rest of you, they raid your tent cities and beat you like animals. Is this what you expect from your city? Is this what you expect from your country?”
“No!”
He mustered his finest sarcastic tone again, “No?”
“No!” They retorted.
“They refuse to provide you with the healthcare you are owed. They ignore your rights to an education. They bail out every fat-cat capitalist that sticks his palm out, while you go to sleep every night fearful of what tomorrow might bring. Your children and they’re hungry and ask you why you don’t love them anymore. They have erased your future. Your future! Your children’s future!”
The crowd hissed and booed at the comments as he continued.
“They erect altars to terrorism all around you. Look around you! The ground you stand on is a monument to colonialism and imperialism! Look at the towers around you. Look there!” he pointed the Appeals Court, “a temple to the gods that enslave you. And another, over there!” He turned and pointed to the Federal Reserve, “The slave masters to whom they traded your freedom for their thirty denarii!”
The crowd shouted and hurled threats and insults at the buildings. High above the park, fearful figures peered down at the raucous crowds. Many would be sleeping in their offices for the night. They prayed the front doors would not be breached and they would not be dragged into the streets like some third world prisoner of war. The last protest had quickly turned deadly as the crowd’s fury was directed at the few businessmen that still worked in the surrounding buildings.
He pointed to the southeast and continued with his fiery rhetoric, “And there, a museum for the history of the Zionists; the same wretched sub-humans that have caused so much of your suffering? They have a shrine for their evil deeds, what do you have?”
“Nothing!” The crowd hissed and jeered even louder than before at his inference.
“Enough!” He demanded.
The spellbound crowd echoed his demand, “Enough!”
William smiled; they were all his thralls now. Through his conjurations of lies and evocations of hate he had ensnared their minds. Now was the time for his black art theatrics. He stomped the stage with fury and thrust his arms into the air once again as he thundered with passion to his thralldom, “Fangen wir einen Aufruhr. Ein Aufstand!“
The crowd roared ever louder at the utterance of each word.
"Sie wollen damit zu kämpfen, geben wir ihnen einen Aufruhr!
Oder vielleicht Revolution, eine Lösung!
Verändern wir eine Nation, aber zuerst ein wenig Geduld.
Ich möchte Aufruhr, geben wir ihnen einen Aufruhr!"
The tempestuous crowd was at a boiling point, the energy was untameable by anyone but William. As he uttered the last verse of his teutonic chant, he withdrew a gleaming knife and held it high above his head. The crowd was in a frenzy. It clammored for a blood offering. Finally, he acquiesced and slashed a shallow cut down the length of each of his forearms. He raised each arm in turn and smeared the crimson across his cheeks and down his face. When he finished the gesture he stomped the stage and thrust his arms skyward one final time, before bellowing a nightmarish howl.
As William was performing his closing act, a dozen provocateurs filtered out from the back of the crowd and walked towards the line of police. The officers were visibly unnerved by the scene. Something wicked was brewing.
William jumped into the air. As he landed, he pointed towards the police and roared, "Now!“
Fast-paced industrial music blared from the stage‘s sound system. A dozen men simultaneously lit and launched their molotov cocktails at the police. The bombs exploded all along the line, engulfing the panicked officers.
Several cops dove on the ground and frantically rolled around in vain trying to extinguish the flames, but the hate-fueled fire was too great to be denied. The blood frenzy of the crowd now had a focal point – the terror-stricken police. The crowd fanned out in all directions, seeking anything or anyone to immolate. All the while, William continued to shriek orders from atop the stage like some malevolent, planar fiend. A ghastly smile engulfed his bloody face.
H e had never felt more alive.
***
The Learjet was plush and relaxing, compliments of one of his many supporters. William was half-way back to D.C. and on his second martini. He could not have felt any better. He stared out the window at Chesapeake Bay. It was empty; there were no sailboats, no yachts – nothing. The open water was desolate.
From his comfortable, captain’s chair, he closed his eyes and envisioned the horror and suffering that was occuring far beneath him. He did not feel sympathy to those below him. He knew that it was a necessary transition that had to be endured to achieve his ends.
He could see the pain in many of the faces of the people who came to his protests. They were searching for guidance from anyone that would give it. He gave them his solutions and they believed him without question. A fundamental ideological transformation would be required before he would allow things to return to some semblance of normalcy.
His feet were propped up and he was beginning to fall asleep when his phone began to vibrate. He ignored the first and second calls, but he finally relented and answered the third.
“What?”
“How was your little rally in Philly?”
“It was so amazing, you wouldn’t believe it. We brought that town to its knees. We had over five thousand people show up and had probably another five thousand join in before I left, and it’s not over – not by a long shot. They’ll be burning that town for a week.”