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terror.txt
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1997-04-16
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52 lines
The Roots of Modern Terror
by St. Tribunal Overdrive and Gerry Reith, A0
You are among the many passengers of a large bus careening wildly down a
twisted mountain road. The bus is being driven by a drunk who is half
blind. He and those near the front are suffering from some sort of
intoxication from gaseous emissions. They are also drinking. It is night;
not even the moon is out to provide lighting. The main lights of the bus
are broken from near brushes with the steadily deteriorating old guardrails
that are the only thing between the bus and a twenty five hundred foot
plunge off a sheer face cliff.
The bus is travelling at a truly high rate of speed, etc. Evidently the
brakes are out. Only the screams of watchful passengers have kept the
sleeping driver from crashing. Within the last few minutes more than four
times the bus has had a near miss, headed straight forward into a sharp turn.
It is raining and the roads are slick.
You originally got into the bus to obtain protection from the elements.
This was long ago; so long that you don't remember. Way back then, some
wise guy started the bus, and began driving. The drivers have been changed
several times, but no matter what, they all speed up; they frequently
promise to slow down some; and they all drink heavily from seemingly
bottomless flasks stored near the front.
Most of the passengers sit, mute, staring off into space, rolling out of
their seats and not getting back into them. They seem paralyzed. Those
that still seem conscious are divided.
Most of them believe the bus is headed somewhere. So do the drivers. But
others know that there never was any particular destination in mind. A
while back you and some others found a map, inside something called a
``history book,'' and on the map was a picture of a road. The map has clear
markings that say ``Dead end.'' In fact, it is a deader end than most: the
map indicates that the road ends in an abrupt, unmarked precipice.
Some of the passengers want to get out but the windows and doors are
welded shut. When they go up front to talk with the driver or his
supporters near the font, who are also drunk, they are forcibly pushed back.
Shouts have one result: the driver speeds up, and slumps over the wheel more
frequently. Some of the passengers think that everyone should be quiet and
enjoy the ride. Others are positively certain that the driver should speed
up. Still more don't even think the bus is moving.
Once in awhile a passenger goes beserk, doing great physical harm to those
around him in an attempt to go and seize the wheel.
According to the map, you are not far from the end of the road. Most of
the people who are told this become immediately agitated and call for new
drivers. They then attempt to go and take the wheel, which causes the
present driver to swerve and screech around in an even more chaotic way.
You just want to stop the bus and get out, but you cannot. To no one else
has it occurred to stop the bus. And it seems that those in favor of
speeding up are gaining the upper hand; they are driven by the idea that if
they get there faster everything will be okay.
Federal Government.