Outside the Asylum
I n the eyes of the public, the Pillar and his Mushroomers looked as insane as The Three Stooges were. With their blankets covering them like two-cent beggars, they trudged with reluctance toward the police outside, along with the rest of the crowd. The scene should have been intense — the police capturing the most wanted terrorist in the world — but it was absurdly comical at best.
“Right now we’re witnessing a most memorable moment in history,” said the BBC reporter sent to cover the situation in the field. “It almost reminds one of Osama Bin Laden. Killa da Pilla might be worse, or, at least, the modern version of a terrorist in our age.”
Behind her the crowd had been chained into a breath-taking silence. So intense that whispers were very audible.
“Look at his eyes,” a woman told her friend. “Look at the hatred in his eyes.”
“And that suit,” her friend replied. “He is a lunatic.”
Nonchalantly, the Pillar wheeled himself forward with one hand, the other smoking a pipe. He strolled like a man who’d just woken up and was ready for his first shot of caffeine of the day. He also smiled, provocatively. Grinning at the cameras.
“You don’t have the right to smoke. You’re a criminal,” a police officer stopped him, pointing his gun at him.
“Oh,” the Pillar said and threw it away, only to pull out a banana from his pocket. “Nothing against peeling bananas though, right?”
The officer hesitated. “I’m not sure. I will have to check the regulations on that.”
“Don’t bother,” said the Pillar. “I’ll have it finished before you finish your bureaucratic check. Could you tell the Queen I want to speak to her before the police take me to jail?”
The officer hesitated again, but the Queen had heard. With a smug look on her face she signaled for the Pillar to approach.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” The Pillar clapped his hands free and threw away the banana peel. He began wheeling himself closer.
“Remember that all the guns are pointed at you, Pillar,” the Queen reminded him.
“I’m as harmless as a squirrel. Don’t worry. May my fellow terrorists approach, too?”
“Not them,” she said. “Once I hear what you have to say, they’ll be handcuffed and shipped to the worst prison in the world. As will you.”
“I’m humbled with your generosity, Your Majesty.” The Pillar advanced more.
The Queen knew something was off. She didn’t quite get the Pillar’s act. Why would he confess to being a terrorist? Why would he not burst out in public and tell them about Wonderland?
But she didn’t mind. The public wouldn’t believe any of this nonsense. The public wanted a cold-served revenge.
The Pillar stopped too close, so much so that her guards and the police tensed with their guns.
“That’s enough,” she said. “What do you have to say to the public? Do you want to admit your crime and ask for forgiveness?”
“I’d rather ask for a Coke and double-cheese burger with Brazilian nuts,” the Pillar said.
The crowd booed all around.
“You’re not winning any points here,” the Queen remarked.
“That’s because I’m not playing this game.”
“So we’re here to chitchat in front of the cameras? Are you seeking your fifteen minutes of fame on TV?”
“Normally, I’d want to tell you something like: you’re a short and stocky human poop with a crown on top,” the Pillar said. “But I’m a polite guy. I wouldn’t belittle our queen.”
“I think this discussion is over,” the Queen said. “One more insult and my guards will have the right to shoot you.”
“But of course. So farewell, Your Majesty.” The Pillar grinned without emotion. A plastic grin of undecipherable intentions. “However, before I go I’d like to tell you something on behalf of the people of Britain.”
“Yeah?” the Queen mocked him. “And what do the people of Britain want to say to me?”
“One word, Your Majesty,” the Pillar said. He pulled a rifle from under the blanket he had rested on his lap, then shot her, splattering her head open like watermelon splashing down from a ten story fall. “One loud word, Your Majesty.”