Paul Collins - The Government In Exile

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The Government in Exile

a short story by Paul Collins

It is Revolution Day tomorrow, and the people are already crowding the

streets, preparing for the festivities.

I turn from the blackened window and jog down the stairs. I always run

and down the stairs. I find it amuses the people in the house. I jog

mainly because it is the only exercise I get. I think they resent my

jogging. They feel keeping fit is a little excessive.

Ob (this stands for Obese, we think, although it might be an

abbreviation

of Oberon) looks up from the table where he is pondering a crossword.

nods disdainfully -- I know he thinks I'm a fool for jogging.

I slow to a walk and glance down at his crossword. I have yet to see

him

complete one; I wonder why he persists with the charade. He fools no

one.

In the kitchen the plates are piled high. Something scurries from

beneath

the unwashed cooking utensils. The movement dislodges a knife that is

crucial to the pile's balance, and I am barely in time to rescue all

but

the large plate, which crashes to the floor. I hear Ob sigh.

"How's the crossword?" I call. It is a joke among the household that

has

been festering in Ob's mind like some terminal disease. Cancerous

growth?

That would be nice. A terminal cancerous growth.

I hear his pencil rattle across the table and can imagine his bloated

face

turning a bright red with every swallowed breath. I should remind him

save his energy for Revolution Day tomorrow.

I kick the shattered plate into the corner where all the other broken

items gather like mould. It is my turn to wash the dishes, as it was

seven

weeks ago. Perhaps illogically, I concede that I too will forego this

chore. Everyone else has.

Ob is not at the table when I leave the kitchen. No doubt he is

upstairs

in his one-windowed room, taking rabid, inspired shots at the

unemployed

in the streets. If it keeps him happy until tomorrow, why not?

In the downstairs common room Mary Sue and Ike are watching a re-run of

some ancient show. Although originally filmed in colour the celluloid

has

slid into sepia. The sound track, too, has regressed. This is perhaps

why

Mary Sue and Ike are both huddled close to the TV and do not notice my

arrival.

I sit down and daydream a little until the show finishes. It is a

hardship

I endure gladly. From upstairs the muffled report of a high-velocity

carbine echoes down the stairwell.

"You been upsetting Ob again?" Ike says. He giggles hysterically. I

have

deduced that Ike is reliving his childhood.

"His crossword wasn't going too well," I admit. I pull a sad face.

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Paul Collins - The Government In Exile

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