SCRIBBLE
For the Greater Good Creative Writing By Amy Watton “Peacekeepers, humanitarians, soldiers and innocents, all of whom, gave their lives fighting the fires and the floods. Millions of these people’s lives have become the price for negligence, silence and inaction. Distinguished Mr President, Excellences, this on-going tragedy unites us all. Here today, we must choose survival over selfishness. Thank you.” Applause ensues.
The Assembly is concluded with a resounding smack of the hammer. People begin standing, and filing out slowly. In the distance you could hear a reporter, “Live from New York…” Push on. A hand at your elbow, an overzealous face invades your vision. “Your excellency! What’s going to happen to the migrants?” You don’t bother answering; knowing security has her under control. Her face is shoved away and you’re escorted to the Range Rover.
“On behalf of the General Assembly, I wish to thank the President of Morocco for the statement just The driver spends twenty minutes driving in made. May I ask for excellences to remain seated calculated circuits to lose any eager tails. The eyes while we greet the Head of State.” are still following. You can feel them. After an hour or so, the car pulls up to a halt outside the casino. The two men stood, one a shrivelled creature with No press here. Even so, they wouldn’t dare come a posse behind him, the other resembling more of near. They have strict time slots. As soon as they’re a prepubescent boy than a man. If neither had the off duty, they help brush all the sleaze under the rug. power to nuke a city as big as Mumbai, you would They’re the cause of most of it anyway. find it comical. They separate, forced amiability exposed through awkward smiles and shoulder- The lights are muted and you’re quickly guided to pats, the boy turns and leaves through the side door, the back booth. Upon entering you immediately the President returns to the chair. spot the cluster seated at the round table. You know the deal; these people come forward, blame-name-shame and move on, escorted by pimped-up security in limousines to their lavish hotels. Tcht. The loss of the life of one of them was worth more than the millions already taken. Survival over selfishness. Survival of who? But you’re a part of this; you’re a part of The Program. It’s the survival of you.
“I see you found your way Gorky?” the short, bald prime minister said, feigning politeness. “Get on with it Collins.” You snap. “I need updates, where you all up to with The Program?” “I heard Rita talking about you; talking about you… leaving.” Dying. Not leaving.
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