Chapter Eleven: Procession.
The council of 300 meeting was just getting underway. The plain man had left, and there was a great deal of shuffling, with small pinhole lights popping up in the distance past all of the different desks. Small flashlights, the schedule had been left on every podium surrounding the center stage. The first entry was “The procession”
“Members of the council to begin the procession, the poet acolyte and associate council member J1A7, will read us some marvelous poetry. Another flurry of activity, distant paper shuffling echoing through the microphone came through, and a diminutive figure in a dark blue acolyte robe came up to the podium. A light cough, and a throat clear and the room burst forth with a nasal, high-pitched voice of indeterminite gender.
“Birds, birds fly. Birds fly high. Birds are really beautiful things, they flight is higher than our jumps, and when they die flying they land in bumps. Birds are the truth of nature and nature is always right, it is mother nature that gives us birds and more birds. Some birds are yellow, some birds are blue i think right now, a bird is thinking of you. Birds, nature and leaves, birds sit on leaves and dont have a problem with their wings and feathers. They can build nests of garbage, so who is the real monster.”
After a long pause, a quick burst of applause filled the room. Pretty much every collective sound filled the room, that was how it was set up.
“Good progress, acolyte, unfortunately your poem was actually bad. Not just mediocre. You must elevate to mediocrity to gain the understanding.”
The acolyte breathed a heavy sigh and left the spotlight.