A body suddenly crashed through a plate glass window at the Brigadier’s house startling the President who was sitting at her Queen Anne desk in the drawing room.
“And now what?” She reached for the tiny silver bell resting next to her computer. But before she had time to ring it, her loyal manservant, Mansell, burst through the door, pistol in hand.
“What’s happening, Mansell?”
“Revolution, Mrs President. Things are somewhat topsy-turvey. Things are not as they should be.”
“You’re probably right,” said Mrs President poking the body with an expensively slippered foot carefully avoiding the blood. “The workers?”
“Not this time. This time it’s Whitey. He’s playing up again.”
“Whitey! Why? What’s the problem?”
“Ah, they want power back. Power and the plantations. They say the Constitution has a hidden clause saying they have God-given rights.”
“Ah well, that’s okay then. Let them have it all.
“No Mansell, you fool. Call up the National Guard. And fetch me my sword.“
Written for Mondays Finish the Story. Find it here.