crabs in a barrel
And so it came to be, once upon a time and so very long ago, that Death would rule on the kingdom of man.
Death was a fair and just ruler, for the most part. He did not ask for too much in taxes, he did not persecute for religion, and he stayed out of education. He tolerated people of all races, all political inclinations, and all ethical standards, under his rule.
There was, though, another tax, for having Death as a king.
Every year, he would ride out, in his great chariot of steel and fire, and mow down those unlucky enough to come by his blade. From sunup til sundown, on one day of the year, people would hear the black horses whinny in the distance, and would run, in fear, in desperation. Some would try the church, others the blacksmith, others the granary. But nowhere was safe, and Death’s dripping red sword could reach into the most sanctified of places.
You could hide from Death, though. If you could go ask the Oracle the date when Death would ride out next, or if you could divine this by tea leaves, or the phase of the moon… and you could afford the rates the alchemists charged, you could survive. You had to drink a potion, the night before, and then you would then sleep, as deep a sleep as any man has ever slept, and Death would pass you over, thinking you already dead.
Probably.
It worked most of the time, anyway.
And so it was, that the kingdom of man grew and prospered. Death took largely from the peasantry and slaves, and ruled justly and well, and the citizenry lived on, year after decade after century.
Then, one fateful autumn day, a stranger came to the kingdom.
He garbed himself in the simple robes of a traveler, and brought with him naught but a begging bowl. He called himself, Demos, meaning “the people”, and wherever he laid his bowl down, he would speak.
He spoke to the common folk, those who filled his bowl with alms. He whispered to them of how they could save themselves, and themselves alone, from the fear of Death. How unfair it was, he crooned, that a thousand slaves must die such that one citizen should live! How horrible, spoke his silver tongue, that men as worthwhile as those in power could do nothing to save themselves!
Demos crossed the kingdom, stopping in every village, every town, every city. He spoke to all who would hear him, and to all he fed his honeyed words. And once he had finished poisoning their minds of the entire peasantry, having traveled from one end of the kingdom to the next…
…he simply left, never to be seen again.
But he had done enough. When next Death sought to ride out, the common folk were waiting, as a vast, seething mass of flesh, armed with whatever rusted iron and blazing fire they could find. Death fought, long and hard and true, but sheer numbers spelled his downfall, and the peasantry won.
The commoners then replaced Death, this great ruler of the kingdom of man, with a golem. It had flashing, red eyes, and a vast scythe, and it sat upon the great golden throne in pure possession. When it killed, it deliberately sought the old, the wise, and the powerful. And it smelled true, so no earthly riches could buy a draught powerful enough to hide the scent of the living.
And so did the peasantry and the slaves rejoice, for they had brought forth equality, they said.
And thus, for the first time, the kingdom of man did fall.
Translation of an anti-democratic fable circa 400BC
- Unknown