again · Liz's stories · November

Hail the Conquering Hero

By Liz Parkes

THE 6th Party Congress  September 5–10, 1934.

The crowd bayed, a monosyllabic chant. The sound punched the air and ricocheted off the walls. Fists were raised in a straight arm thrust high above heads. No one had expected this popularity- least of all the man with the ridiculous hair-do standing on the podium. The straight fringe fell across his eyes and the small orbs puckered into a squint against the light. The mass of people were one huge beast pushing dissent aside, unstoppable. He felt the pulse of excitement grip him in waves. More erect now, more confident, he paced the stage making promises, flattering, winning them over, in awe of the monster he had created.

A natural showman, he played the pauses, the modulations of voice, the patriotism, the rallying cries. His name on all lips reinforced his sense of power. He had spent his life building up to this moment. They said he’d never make it but he’d shown them all, the smart arsed intellectuals. He had their names, a long memory and a ruthlessness that few could match. What of their mockery now?

 

Republican Party HQ    9th November 2016

The crowd bayed, a monosyllabic chant. The sound punched the air and ricocheted off the walls. Fists were raised in a straight arm thrust high above heads. No one had expected this popularity- least of all the man with the ridiculous hair-do standing on the podium. The straight fringe fell across his eyes and the small orbs puckered into a squint against the light. The mass of people were one huge beast pushing dissent aside, unstoppable. He felt the pulse of excitement grip him in waves. More erect now, more confident, he paced the stage making promises, flattering, winning them over, in awe of the monster he had created.

A natural showman, he played the pauses, the modulations of voice, the patriotism, the rallying cries. His name on all lips reinforced his sense of power. He had spent his life building up to this moment. They said he’d never make it but he’d shown them all, the smart arsed intellectuals. He had their names, a long memory and a ruthlessness that few could match. What of their mockery now?

© Liz Parkes 2016

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