In a future where revolution is legalised every four years in the hope of getting more people to engage with politics, a young MP Asquith hunkers down to see if he will be voted out during The Election.
The Election
Ted Wilkes
It was the fourth year in the cycle and
time for an election. Politicians were soon to be hunkered down in their
offices, waiting to see if their constituents would arrive. They had all had a
meal in the cafeteria together and traded stories of the last four years,
knowing that most of those sat around them would not be here at the next meal
that they would share. Asquith looked around the table and was able to tell
those that should be worried; they had faced scandal and been known to be
corrupted by the influences of power and money. It would not surprise him if
there was already a mob amassing outside to begin the election proper with a
lynching of one or two of those who had their hand in the till far too often.
Some had known long ago that they were on the way out and decided only to
exacerbate the situation by making the most of their remaining years. The
papers had their favourites and would hound them relentlessly to make sure that
they were first on the list to go, but it was no excuse for the behaviours that
they had exposed, others were just to be unlucky.
Most at the top table would be safe as they
had the backing of the party that had supplied their staff with all the
weaponry and amour to survive even the most brutal attacks from any side. Asquith
had seen the deliveries across the way; boxes and boxes came in convoys from their
headquarters blowing huge chunks of their budgets on keeping a few grey beards
that they could trust close to them. It wouldn’t matter how many decanted
through to vote they would still be standing come the closing of the polls in
the morning. Others had been left high and dry, the party knowing that they
were to fall this time, and were left with little more than a letter opener to
defend their seat. They would try their best to barricade themselves inside
their offices with only one or two loyal staffers to help them. There were a
few around trading half smiles with one another that hadn’t the stomach for
another fight and had it in their mind to check out early so as not to give the
electorate the satisfaction of the whole routine, simply leaving them a heavy
effigy to do with what they will.
Asquith being young in the game and an
independent knew that there would be a challenge to his seat, he had tried to
do everything he could, but there was always some in his constituency that
questioned his methods. He had a small arsenal locked away where his bookcase
stood that he intended to lay out after dinner across his desk and wait. Should
they come to vote he would be ready. The polls did not look good, but surveys
didn’t know everything.
Although it seemed extreme it was the best
of the systems that the country had seen before as for once it truly was the
politicians that feared the people once every four years. It was said that a
dangerous disease required a radical remedy, and this was the least offensive
to all concerned. There was only the death of those who were hated, a version
of death that was encouraged and longed for. There was no more counting papers,
no more canvassing, no more postal votes, no more kissing babies and campaign
trails if you wanted rid of your MP you had to carry them from their office
above your head and hang their lifeless body on the railings outside
Parliament. It was the most engaged the people had ever been in politics with
eighty-seven percent of people actively involving themselves in politics in one
way or another. The Election was the
most widely watched programme across all TV networks, and for twenty-four hours
households who had decided not to vote this year across the nation would sit
glued to the screen to see which of their leaders they would never have to
engage with again. Some might argue that the system was barbaric and that they
wished for the older days of ballot cards and black boxes, but it would never
return. The people had a direct say in the process and no longer had to be a
lone voice that mattered not if others didn’t muster the strength to check a
box on their own. Each and every resident could pull a trigger and be the one
to change the course of the country without the need to line up at a local
primary school.
It was a little after three fifteen when
the Prime Minister stood in the chamber and announced that The Election would be called. The paper shook in his hands as he
did. Even though he knew that he was safe it may be that there would be a stool
at the bar that would be missing a drinking buddy, a round that might not be
brought for him over the next four years; he almost mustered up a tear. As he
finished there was pandemonium as the MPs sat on the familiar green benches
that no longer seemed so safe leapt over one another to reach their fortresses
and bunkers in the hope of seeing the sun rise.
…
There had been activity for some time in
the halls around him, but so far the footsteps had rushed past Asquith’s door
and onward towards another destination. Placing his feet on his desk he could
hear the crowds gathering outside chanting the names of their targets to let
them know that they were coming. In the corner there was a small box flickering
with updates as they came in saying who had been unseated and the victors that
replaced them. Asquith had not recognized names but had seen faces that he
knew. Allowing himself another fleeting glance he saw a much older gentleman
being pinned to the gates outside his window still wriggling with the last
squirmings of life, trying to plead for those around him to hoist him down from
the platform that they placed him on with promises of a different four years
than they had experienced prior. Suddenly they had heard enough and began to
fill his mouth with rocks jamming them in where they would fit cramming in with
them the vitriol and hatred that they no doubt had been building for the time
in office that they had tolerated him. His lips and teeth bled as throughout
the onslaught he was still trying to get them to listen to his talking points,
but no longer did they need to politely nod and absorb his false assurances and
wild claims of reform. His eyes widened as the end came with the blow of a
shell to the head, now limp his term was over. To his side strung up around him
were friends and colleagues on either side of the isle that he never reached
across to. Each had similar fates befalling them depending upon the viciousness
of their electorate. They kicked out with the last energies of life before falling
flaccid as trophies to the new system.
Turning the box to darkness Asquith sighed
and readied himself as he once again heard the stampede down the corridor
outside his room. He had piled bookcases against the door but that would not
stop them for long. Taking his rifle from the desk he overturned his old
instrument of politics and slid to be covered by it. This was where deals for
his version of a better world were hatched, leaders of foreign lands were met
and constituents bartered with. Now it was simply the last obstacle before his
demise that offered him no more than a few seconds more to breathe. With the
crash the door flew open and the hordes poured in. The numbers were in and
Asquith too had lost his seat.
