Ten Openings That Never Went Anywhere - #4

They stared at the screen together.

Across a vast, snow-covered square so large that the ends were lost in the sky, innumerable ranks of grey-green figures stood in tight rows, from the cameraman seemingly all the way to the blanket white clouds. In the distance, along one side of the square, a square black limousine struggled like a beetle, almost broken by the weight of the enormous portrait of the Dear Leader it sustained. It was only the sheer scale of the scene that revealed any sign of humanity. Rows of mourners that in any smaller number would have appeared drilled with laser-like precision revealed the subtlest kinks in the foreshortened middle distance. Perspective could be harsh.
Grey-uniformed photographers tripped with peculiar spriteliness around the leader elect, as he walked beside the funeral cortege. But the grey-green thousands watching on were as still as a forest. Their heads hung low, as if bowed and broken by many snows.

'They're not really morning people.'
'Evidently.'
'No, I mean, they're not really mourning, are they? They do what they are told to do. Or else.'
'Oh I see. Well. They do look very sincerely miserable. I don't think they're making that up.'
'I mean, it's like looking into the mind of my parents.'
'What?'
'I'd like to think they'd know what to do if someone struck up a tune, and at the very least they'd be containing their dancing feet. I dunno, some animal instinct for play maybe. But if I'd grown up so drilled and obedient, perhaps the thought of freedom would fill me with horror. Anything new would seem like the beginning of anarchy. The world might just end, if people started treating me well. That's not meant to happen in this life. If I were them, I would be feeling terror right now. We all think we're happier in the hell we're in, than the heaven we're hoping for. The risk of moving on to something slightly better is terrifying even to the faithful. And the fear of going there alone is all the worse from the safety of a crowd.'
'You know, I've always thought. You're very wise, for a sandwich vendor.'
'Thank you! Me, I'm terrified of becoming a successful sandwich magnate.'
'You're very wise.'
'Thanks again. It's still £2.50 though.'
'Very wise. I think you might even make it, at this rate.'
'Ta. Still £2.50 though.'
'Oh bloody hell. Tracy Law, you cow.'

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