Mob

A Short Tale of the Happy Masses at Play

Charles Adam
Mob squeals. Mob roars! Mob eats!

He spins the wheel around and around and around it goes, the gun on its little black pillow gleaming in the hard white spotlight. It's been make to look like death's child, black steel and grinning ivory skulls strewn randomly about its surface.

The wheel stops. Zero! The lucky number! The gun's pillar begins to sink back beneath the stage.

But Mob roars! This is not the show! Give us the SHOW!

He looks at them for a moment, stares into the single roaring face of the giant screaming child that is mob. Some have compared it to a beast, but it has just a bit more mind than that. Mob knows what it wants. It wants the SHOW!

With a twirl and a grin, he provides the show.

The wheel spins again! 0-1-2-3-4-5-6 and back again and again as the great multicolored wheel with the spinning diamond skull at its center twirls again and again.

And then it comes whirling down to six.

Mob screams for joy as he reaches for the gun and points it right into mobs face. Mob is in ecstasy. It roars! It stamps! It howls in exalted delight!

"Shoot me!" Mob screams!

And he does.

Published by Charles Adam

Trying to wake up. Difficult! Gears rusted. All the bits and bobs are moving in a complete lack of harmony. It seems all produced will be mad chaos and the hideous grinding of steel teeth. But I shall soldi...  View profile

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