Demos
A micro play on fascism.
[A village square where Demos is burning in effigy. Tyrian, a young man, is addressing a Chorus, a group of middle aged men, and a crowd which includes Polis, an elderly woman.]
Tyrian:
We have killed Demos, that friend of the elite, the pompous, and the overly educated. We have freed ourselves of his grip and may now pursue our own joint interest.
Polis:
But Demos’ body was our body, how shall we act as a body now.
Tyrian:
How dare you question the people, seize her and kill her!
[The crowd proceeds to grab Polis and beat her to death fist by fist]
Chorus:
And this is how the world shall live
Each will consume the other
For their own benefit
Or for not following tyrannical orders
Until even the tyrant himself is consumed
[The crowd upon these words begins to eat one another including Tyrian and the Chorus until all lie dead and partially consumed. From the body parts of this mass, the body of Demos reforms, a mangled man like that of Frankenstein’s monster, but the only living soul.]
Demos:
I rise as a fleshy phoenix
For democracy is not a system
Nor a people
But a process in historical time
I shall give birth to a new Polis, a new Tyrian, a new Chorus, and a new crowd
Only to be lit again
Only for the masses to consume of each other again
I can no longer ideal, I must begin my fated work
[Demos begins molding Polis from the dirt of the village square.]
The End.
