Quackery
Fiction, Poetry

Revolution

drinking-fountainNo one dared mention “the incident.”

A month had passed. The fountain, decorated and enshrined, as if suspended in time.

I imagined future generations, hundreds of years from now, visiting this spot, and reminiscing.

This is where it all began. Ground zero.

The price was high. I often wondered, what value is one life, which ignites revolution?

The janitor knew.

“The time has come. I will lead.”

The whirring hum lay silent. Silent as the procession of students walking past.

Revolution.

The word was on the face of everyone.

Revolution.

It spread beyond the walls.

Fountains unplugged. Every school, every office, every municipal building.

Revolution.

They will be coming for us.

The incubus of germs, vanquished at last.

New water coolers. Pure, refreshing, non-metallic taste.

“He was brave. We will honor his sacrifice.”

The faint smell of mountain streams, the burble of brooks…

Revolution.

They were coming. We were ready.

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About Quackzalcoatl

Phoneticist, Palindrologist, and freelance Sharknadologist. Inventor. Ruler of 2-acre lakes and small streams.

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