Oliver Benjamin
“The Ozzy Lama sure works in mysterious ways,” he said. The girl
nodded and put her hands together in prayer. “Amen,” she sighed.
When we awoke the next day, she was gone.
“What happened to the girl?” Joe inquired of one of the guards.
I assumed that they had moved her to a different cell after Yippee’s
repeated attempts to seduce her during the night.
“I think she was executed,” he answered matter-of-factly. We
gasped.
“Oh, I’m sorry. My mistake,” he said, consulting his ledger. “She
was released. Sometimes I just can’t even read my own writing!” he
laughed. “Actually, it’s you three that are getting executed today.”
“Can you double check that?” Joe said grimly.
“Yep. In about half an hour. Apparently there’s some sort of a
large uprising outside and they want to make sure that your secrets
die with you. Makes sense, really.”
“What sort of an uprising?” I asked. The guard was just about to
answer, when a perverse voice came from the top of the stairs.
“I’ll tell you what sort of an uprising!” the Omniraja boomed.
We fixed our eyes on his long robe as he made his way down to the
front of our cell. It was hard to believe that this single, diminutive
man could bring about the end of the world, and with no one to stop
him, it looked as if this actually might happen. He continued, “…the
kind of uprising that will threaten the very future of the earth! The
very worst of all possible kinds—an uprising led by an overzealous
megalomaniac who will soon be squashed like the bug that he is!”
“There’s only room for one overzealous megalomaniac in these
parts, huh?” said Yippee to the Omniraja.
The Omniraja laughed momentarily and then said, “I have
much more important things to attend to than you. Guards, take
them to the gas chamber! Let these be the first pimples to be scoured
off the earth’s surface.”
We were lead into a stark, white room, in the corner of which
stood a small, glass partition. “I hope you don’t take this too hard,
gentlemen,” said the Omniraja. “After all, this shall be much more
agreeable than the way the rest of the world shall perish—death by
drowning is most unpleasant. Farewell, soldiers of the old order!” He
waved, then put a mask to his face, and began sucking the sweet taste
of nitrous oxide, while he waited for us to inhale the far-more-deadly
cyanide gas. The executioner, a menacing, black-robed and hooded
223
 |
 |
 |
 |