an insidious knock in the night

an insidious knock in the night

fiction
edward w pritchard

It comes like as insidious knock in the night, like a bump of a mouse creeping into the kitchen of a grand mansion. 

Judgment has come to town. A very fat man riding into the territory on a small white burro. Beginning to spread money for information. Building a network of vengeance and innuendo of things that shouldn't be said. The fat man knows it is time to leave when those who squealed begin to turn on each other. He knows when the good men of business begin to fall he must quickly ride his burro far away to another place.

Money, money money for information, for secrets. God knows anyway, speak your duty.

And the victims. Turn the other cheek, forgive your enemies. Always with Love, always faith, charity, hope.

Then the secret archives of summary judgment are passed into the future. Pious Monks in silent Irish monasteries on rocky cliffs along the frozen crashing ocean waves preparing ornate scrolls beginning with one gargantuan flowery letter of the alphabet proclaiming the distant past for tomorrow until invading Viking armies burn and plunder and grant one heart felt request of the oldest broken Monk begging to spare the worthless scrolls. Mercifully the invading raiders light their fires with something else. 

Then it's all passe. A new idea comes like an insidious knock in the night, like a bump of a mouse creeping into the kitchen of a grand mansion.