“You’ve got to help me,” he said breathlessly.
Being still stunned, I simply looked at him. He put an ear
to the door and listened. He was in a blue workman’s outfit with a nametag
stating, “C.W. – Prophet” over the pocket. After a few moments, he relaxed and
turned toward me, leaning his back against the door. “Thought I was a goner,”
he said.
“What?”
He continued to catch his breath. When it became apparent
that no one was following, he walked to a chair, sat, and began to explain.
“It all started with an assignment from the Falloonian
Elders,” he said.
“Which was?”
“To report on all the furor your species has created over
gun control.” He took a breath. “It’s not the first time, you know.”
“Yes.”
“So …, my conclusion was that guns are not your problem.”
“Oh, really?”
“No, your problem is your reliance on violence as the method
of choice for conflict resolution, your distrust of strangers, and a general
hatred of folks outside your immediate tribe. Guns are simply the easiest tool
for the otherwise powerless.” He paused. “The distrust is significant. There
are even entire cities, you know, where everyone there is just like everyone
else there.”
“Go on,” I said.
“Well,” he said. “I didn’t leave it at that. No. I decided
that what your species badly needs is a communal philosophy that counteracts
these impulses.” He looked at the floor. “And, that I could design such a
philosophy and spread it.”
Now I was getting interested. “So?”
“The philosophy was simple,” he said. “It would urge people
to honor peacemakers, the merciful, the pure in heart, the poor in spirit, and
those who comfort one another instead of blowing them away.” He looked at me
for approval. “Those are the main ones. There are more. Oh, there’s also the
admonition not to condemn others—say for their sexuality—so that you won’t be
judged for your own sexual habits.” He smiled. “I like that one.”
“C.W.” I said. “That all sounds vaguely familiar.”
“Oh, I borrowed much of it from an old body of teachings by
a group once quite prevalent in your country. It has dwindled now to a few small
bands, mostly elderly, and a few so-called filthy liberals.”
“So, how it is going?”
“Not good,” he said. “I decided to try it out.”
“Try it out?”
“Yes, I saw where a large group had gathered in some huge
building out on the interstate, so I assumed my most charming form and asked if
I could deliver a message to them.”
“And?”
“I had to bribe them with something called a ‘love offering’
but they finally allowed it.”
“And?”
“I got about halfway through and they began to fidget.”
“And then?”
“I saw the flash of a pistol barrel. Then another. And
another.”
“What then?”
“I got the hell out of there. They formed a mob and chased
me here.”
“The congregation chased you here?”
As it is written:
We played the flute
for you, and
You did not dance;
We wailed, and you did
not
Mourn.
-The Alien C.W.
|
“All the way. I was terrified.”
“They wanted to harm you?”
“Harm me?” he said with alarm. “I think they wanted to
crucify me!”
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