The October Music, Stanza 2 - Day 10

Ruby With the Sharpest Lies

            Will it hurt? The most common question and one eminently understandable. Coups always require violence and this one was no exception. At this point, it was hard to know who was in charge of what. The actual power being traded back and forth like sports cards had become irrelevant. For some macabre reason, the point of the coups had metastasized into something uglier: who would be able to produce the most hideous deaths of his opponents?

            Commandant Oluwese was first. He had opted for mass hangings of the opposition. Hundreds had been placed on the custom-built gallows and dropped at the same time. The collective snap sounded like a bone of the world being broken. Then, only a few weeks later, General Seneset took over. He was not nearly so theatrical. One big pit and ten thousand rounds of rifle ammunition pumped into the ruling party. That reign lasted several months, but when Vice Admiral Turana decided he wanted to rule, the palace was converted into a pile of ash and dozens of charred bodies.

            And so it went. Egos transmuted into spectacle into abhorrent violence. The United Nations could do nothing. Nobody wanted to interfere. Finally, just last week, a Doctor Morovan decided that he wanted to be in charge, if only for a short period of time. He paid off the Guard – basically mercenaries at this point – and seized control of the new palace. The current ruling party was small but powerful and the ‘good doctor’ did not have much of a taste for hanging or bullets. Instead, he created something much, much worse.

            His victory was a banquet he threw for all the triumphant powerful. He plied them with food and liquor until they were all content, at which point the Guard entered and held them all at gunpoint as Morovan placed in front of every guest a small glass full of cherry-red liquid. A couple of the older leaders attempted to argue but a bullet to the brain ended any pushback quickly. Morovan explained to the scared party that he was taking control but would not do them the indignity of throwing them out the window, a la two leaders ago. Instead, he prepared them a special drink from his lab. Something that would be quick and efficient.

            Will it hurt? The question was asked in quiet, defeated tones. He assured them with a broad, wolfish smile that it would not. He had designed the end to be quick and painless, a mercy for those he somewhat respected. Satisfied, the few most tired of life drained their glasses and awaited the end. It seemed a fitting finish except for one crucial mistake.

            Morovan had lied.

            The coughing started first and then glittering red blood burst from the throats of those who drank. They gargle-screamed about their innards being torn apart by glass shards. Morovan did not argue with them as they died horribly.
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            After all, they had guessed the secret ingredient. They deserved to be right.