Democracy and Freedom walked into a bar, inappropriately leaning on each other. Democracy, her clothes too short; Freedom, she just looked too hot. Right sat to the right side of the bar; Speech glanced nervously at Freedom from afar. His stare, not one of perversion but awe; he’d never seen someone so unafraid of the law. The law of the land, the king of all who could stand. Whose name they mustn’t utter (among many things that they couldn’t); there was but one definitive feature; Saffron was the color of this abominable creature.
On a corner table, Nationalism sat quietly, dealing cards; his hungry eyes overflowing with emotion. How shamelessly provocative of Freedom to dress, the way that she had, her top; backless! Democracy stood, a silent observer, her friend soon to be a victim of the incessant murmur. Saffron, enraged, Nationalism at his side; he walked up to Freedom, about to say something snide. Speech and Right, they couldn’t silently stand; together they walked up to Freedom, one stood at each hand.
What then ensued was a short battle indeed. Freedom, Right and Speech were crushed in a stampede. Little had they known they never did stand a chance; it had been but a silent moment of romance.
Democracy wrote in the headlines the next day;
“Anti-National elements threatening me were dealt with the Right way.”