``Politics''
			   By Tim Howe
                         vsync@quadium.net

Far away was a little village, happy and prosperous, save for the
monster that often terrorized the people.  The monster would lie in
wait in the fields during harvest time, jumping out at unwary
villagers.  Sometimes it would content itself with simply stealing the
crops, but every so often it would kill or maim one of the people.

Eventually, the rage of the people boiled over, and they grew bold.
Taking up sword and spear, they went out and fought the monster.  With 
their swords, they killed the monster and sliced it from neck to
navel.  And out of the cut fell the two young, the spawn of the
monster.

Sensing strong in their blood the taste of victory, the villagers fell 
upon the young and with ropes made fast their place.  With cords they
tied the spawn to trees, and appointed men to watch over them for all
time.  And the fire that issued from their nostrils was used for
cooking fires and to frighten the enemy.  Saved them on the day of
battle it did, many times.

As time passed from season to season, villagers in great quantity
devoted themselves to the two monsters, the dual spawn of their
nemesis.  Priests they became, devoted to their feeding.  As they were 
wise and strong, with purpose and duty, they were given charge of the
monsters.  Placed over the guards, they added scent of incense to
glint of blade.

Sleepy by the odors and chanting from the priests, the guards grew
lax.  They failed to make fast the ropes, failed to stay vigilant.
And one night, long after the first fingers of dark crept into the
sky, one of the great demons pulled loose its bonds, and its twin,
seeing it, followed.

As news of the destruction being wreaked in the fields reached the
people, the priests of the first monster summoned them.  ``Fear not,'' 
they said.  ``Black though it seems, our charge fights to protect you
from the certain death that comes with the other.''  And the priests
of the other convinced their followers of the same.

Untrained in the ways of logic, many chose monster over monster, beast
over demon, and championed their cause.  Each man defended his god,
and as they quarreled, they made the first morsels for the creatures.
Only a few escaped, a handful.

The few ran to the end of the valley, where the catapult was hidden,
to make a final valient stand, to give their lives for the village and
destroy the enemy.  Yet they argued over which monster was the worse,
the words of the priests ringing yet in their ears.  A wise man, great
in years and gray of beard, spoke thus: ``See you not that the
monsters fight not themselves, but you?  See you not that your wives,
your children, your homes, be laid waste by both?  There is no hope
but to aim up at the rocks on yonder cliff and kill both enemies.''

So saying, the man pointed to a cliff high above, where great rocks
perched, ready to rain death upon those who passed below.  The men at
the catapult, brave men and true, would hear of it not.  ``See you not 
that yonder cliff stands too far to hit, without the work of all?  See 
you not that we will never agree to kill both?  Nay, we will kill one
and frighten the other.  We will subdue it and it will be as before.''

Resolute they stood, and firm, so the old one stayed to watch them
die.  The monsters entered the valley, passing under the cliff,
treading below the rocks.  As they came, fearsome in appearance and
grand to see, the catapult was fired.  The missile hit one, or perhaps 
the other.  As its lifeblood began to flow upon the ground, to spray
against the sky, its mighty tail destroyed half the valiant troops.
And its brother, thus enraged, came upon the rest and mauled them,
crushing them painfully until they begged for mercy, at which time
it ate them, their bones crunching against its teeth.