The dark gray, steel door opened slowly. A man appears wearing dirty, torn clothing. His skin where visible is ripped and bloody, and his head is covered with a black hood. Wrist bound behind him are red with the shackles he wears as he is dragged along by two thugs.
Half pulled and stumbling he ascends blue carpeted stairs. The words and voice of the reelected President echo around the massive celebration. Words such as “hope” and “dreams” and “…the task of perfecting our union moves forward” boom from the massive speakers.
Dragged forward to a side stage, a dim light grows in illumination. There in the midst of the celebration stands a guillotin. The man is unable to see his coming death, but he can sense its cold, clawed fingers stretching out toward him. As the blade falls the crowd cheers.