In front of the government palace, for centuries, there has been a lawn with the softest and greenest grasses ever trod on. It’s called Petitioner’s Square. And for centuries it has been the place where the Shoulderheads and the Heelheads stock their munitions, catapults, tanks, drones, and clubs. The Kneeheads, even, play tag there.
Dawn breaks on that historic day.
Eight groups of eight hundred have gathered together to make their lips vibrate synchronistically in front of the government palace. Nobody has ever been able to enter Petitioner’s Square without a uniform, but that morning, the hum of their lips grows so great that its expansive wave sends the fences flying, the patrols scatter, and the satellite cannons implode forever.
The eight groups of eight hundred begin to advance through their own clamor.
The first column shouts that, in the name of Bonebunny, Stinker, and Tombkat, they would not allow the privatization of everything disruptive. That everything belongs to everyone.
But when Bonebunny, Stinker, and Tombkat drag themselves into Petitioner’s Square, nobody knows who they are.
Better that way, they say. And they surrender.
And yet, the ninth group of nine hundred, the rearguard that is entering the government palace recognizes them. Someone decides to detonate all the bombs.
Something explodes; it isn’t their bodies. Now the lawn is hard clay, pollen, shrapnel, pieces of palace.
Who will the Elbowheads imprison for this unjust attack?