Author: Svyatoslav Moiseenko
“A fairytale story is just a fairytale story.
The author’s fiction is just the author’s fiction
and, as a result, does not
no resemblance to reality.
All coincidences, if any are suddenly found (what
cannot be in principle), absolutely random.
And any allegories are the fruit of fiction and fantasies of readers.
He came from nowhere.
Yes, yes, exactly…
In the Citadel of Power, he appeared unexpectedly, one might say by accident. Supported by no one, tutored by no one and dependent on no one. A dark horse, in whose successful race no one believed. And no one made any bets.
An inconspicuous person who quietly worked on the sidelines of power. Without ambitions and pretensions, with a biography that can withstand any test. Always remaining in the shadows. Like a puppeteer, imperceptibly pulling the strings and forced to play a puppet role.
In the Citadel, no one was especially waiting for him. So, just in case, they took him as a substitute player. Would it come in handy? But he didn’t ask for more. Fairly believing: there is no need for this, everything has its time. And skillfully hiding in the shadow of the aged and long-surrendered Dictator.
And the Dictator really lost a lot.
Power fed him.
He tried everything. Political games, rebellions and uprisings, executions and pardons, luxury and sybaritism. Yes, and age crushed an exorbitant burden. And the body, tired of excesses, sent a continuous signal to the almost atrophied brain – that’s enough, it’s time to leave, otherwise they will devour it. Don’t lead to a revolution.
One day, the Dictator’s gaze fell on an inconspicuous man who modestly stood in the shadow of his powerful figure. And the Dictator laughed:
– This is what will be my final move! Nobody will understand anything! And everything will be as I decide!
The insane laughter of the Dictator resounded through the echoing halls of the Citadel of Power, and everyone who heard him tried to become more inconspicuous and grayer, merging with the faceless mass of clerks hurrying about their business.
And the Dictator, seriously carried away by an interesting game of changing Premiers (he was always amused by political leapfrog), made an unexpected move, appointing an inconspicuous little man as the next Prime Minister, turning him into a Co-Ruler.
Everyone around, both the politicians and the plebs, shuddered in surprise.
There was a strange change in the air.
Meanwhile, the Co-ruler quietly, in small steps, studied publicity.
He spoke the way the people liked, he looked the way the people liked, he answered sensitive questions directly and frankly, as the people wanted, and he did everything that the people in one way or another expected from him.
The co-ruler was becoming popular. His phrases began to be pulled apart into quotations. Opponents enjoyed his verbal constructions. The media was all over the place about him. But no one suspected that the domineering Panopticon had a new face.
Everyone around was waiting for the next move of the Dictator, who enthusiastically watched what was happening from the gilded bunker of the Citadel.
And the Dictator was delighted with the game of the Co-ruler and sincerely, with childlike spontaneity, applauded his own genius.
It was time to play the final game, and the Dictator took the stage for the last time.
It was a triumph! And emotional speech. With repentance and assurances of love. And hope that now everything will be fine.
The people sobbed and applauded, forgiving the Dictator for years of imperious orgy and seeing him off for a well-deserved rest. Under guarantees of wealth and immunity. After all, he left his Co-ruler to the people. Young, active and liked by everyone. Stepping out of the shadows Confidently accepting the Crown of the Ruler from decrepit hands. And just as sure of putting it on.
Years flew by, decades passed smoothly.
One thing remained unchanged – the unshakable power of the Ruler in the golden bunker of the Citadel on the ancient hill of the Ancient City, which has long been the capital, changing names so many times, of the Ancient Empire …
… The crimson of the sunset filled the windows of the bunker with a special mysticism. Bringing memories to life. Not always welcome, but always coming with enviable constancy.
Aged, but still full of strength, the Ruler thought.
A huge power was concentrated in his nervously clenched fist, which, lately, he clung to with increasing frenzy.
How many moves and castlings have been made over these decades! How many unthinkable laws and acts have been adopted that strengthen and strengthen his power! How many PR campaigns and all kinds of advertising moves have been carried out! The state machine of agitation and propaganda during this time did not stop for a moment. Generating new and new phantasmagoria in a fabulous labyrinth of skillful fiction. But the desired absolutism still did not come.
The ruler approached the skillfully served table and poured himself a glass of wine. Looking at the ruby sheen in the crystal goblet, he continued to think.
After all, he did everything to ensure that the Ancient Empire became an Empire again! So why hasn’t he been crowned yet?
No, he certainly knew that nothing was impossible. And completely dependent bishops immediately crown him to the kingdom, as soon as he expresses such a wish. Both the army and the guards will also be sworn in immediately. Only it won’t be the same. There will be no sacred meaning so necessary for him. And there will be no people’s love.
– What went wrong? – the Governor was talking to himself. – I did everything right. He observed the appearance of legality, gave the people spectacles, planting periodically presumptuous bureaucrats, played democracy and stupid election, even answered questions like no one else in the world! What? Something went wrong?!
A glass of wine flew into the wall, crumbling into fragments and appearing as a bloody stain on a golden background.
“I know what is needed,” the lips of the Ruler frantically whispered. “I need to show the whole world that I am not afraid of anyone or anything. And, ha ha ha! What did King Solomon say? May the days flow according to my desire? So will I! I need a war! Preferably liberation. And patriotic. Yes, so that no one has the slightest doubt that I am right!
– Hmm… And how will people react? the Governor asked himself.
And he waved his hand!
Don’t give a damn! The people will swallow what they are fed! Not the first time! What do the poor care about the lofty thoughts and aspirations of the monarch? How dare they even have an opinion and express it?
“Something must be done about this, too,” thought the Ruler. – Only censorship and total control over everything and everyone can guarantee the realization of my grandiose plans! I must know what thoughts dominate the minds of my subjects! Is sedition ripening? Is there another conspiracy in sight? And the Duma to help me!
The ruler laughed. And brightened his face. Sweet memories came flooding back that unpleasant surprises with democracy had long ended. Obedient and conditional parliamentarians (at the word “conditional” he even chuckled, remembering the much-needed definition of “probation”) pass the correct laws. Appointed and understandable opposition barks only when it is allowed to do so. And arbitrary bursts of “civic consciousness” are successfully extinguished by imprisonment and psychiatric hospitals.
– Well, then, so be it. It’s time to expand the borders of the Empire a little more, – the future Emperor picked up the government communication phone to give an order, after which history will no longer be the same …
© Copyright: Svyatoslav Moiseenko, 2022
Publication Certificate No. 222012800881
