The Last Standing Anarchist

The Last Standing Anarchist


When it first came out, there were lots of nonbelievers. Nevertheless, it quickly spread across the state, then the country, then to the hinder most parts of the world. It wasn’t long before everyone was on board except one man. The fool. It really worked. No question about that. Yeah, there have been snake oil peddlers for as long as there’s been sickness and lame people limping around or being carried around in beds by their friends and breaking through roof tops. But only one true healer ever lived. So, naturally, when a small pharmaceutical company came up with the so-called miracle tonic, there was lots of skepticism. But then it spread like wild fire. Overnight, the FDA became outdated, insignificant. Screw the FDA. Everyone was drinking the stuff, and it worked. If a dead man could drink it, maybe it would have raised him from the grave. Lots of people tried, don’t worry about that. They sloshed it down the loved one’s throat and jiggled it around like CPR, but not one soul was raised from the dead that way. No one questioned what was in the medicinal tonic. That’s not the point. It was cheap to produce. Think about it, the creators could have made a killing. But, that wasn’t the point. The point was, well let me put it this way, if you had a quick and painless cure for everything, wouldn’t you share it with the world for the healing of the nations? So, they did.

Can you imagine? All diseases eradicated overnight. Amazing. No downside that could be imagined. Except maybe people didn’t need to pray as much. But that wasn’t a problem because their prayers turned to praise. So, that wasn’t a problem. No break down on the spiritual side of things whatsoever. Also, since large populations were free from pain and suffering and other distractions that the flesh has when it’s being tormented, people could focus on spiritual things even more clearly, and the arts.

Incredibly, the world came together, well, almost the whole world. There was this one holdout. Sad to say, the stiff-necked maverick was born and raised in the good ol’ U.S.A., land of freedom and libertarians, etc. etc., Lincoln County, West Virginia, of all places. This man refused to drink the delicious life potion. It made no sense. Can you imagine, everyone all around you drinking a sip or two each day of a golden, apple-flavored beverage that was cheap and easy to get, this fellow sitting alone in a corner smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee? In fact, volunteers were handing it out at the homeless shelters and church basements for free. I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. Absolutely no malice involved. Get that out of your head. I’m talking about a cure for everything you’ve ever heard of—cancer, diabetes, high blood pressure, strokes, asthma, arthritis, MS, diverticulitis, Alzheimer’s, back pain, and all the childhood diseases, migraines, even the common cold, every ache and pain there is or ever will be, completely done away with. Make your own list. No more suffering. No more suffering! Can you think that thought? I’ve already told you the people who came up with the cure are good people, respected people. People like you and me. Don’t be cynical. It’s legit. Anyway, back to this lone holdout. Maybe you think he’s in good health. Nope. Not the case at all. Do you know any forty-four year olds that are in good health? Besides that, what is good health? By human standards, if you’re forty and you’re breathing and walking around and able to hold down a job, you’re in good health. As soon as you’re born you begin to die. I’ll go you one better, as soon as you’re conceived, you begin to disintegrate. The point is this fellow had his share of aches and pains—right shoulder (high school football injury), lower back (picked up a landscape timber the wrong way when he was twenty-seven), left elbow (fell on the ice when he was thirty-five), a touch of arthritis, emphysema, diverticulitis, etc. etc. Can you name one living soul who does not have some kind of pain? As long as there is gravity, there’s going to be pain, by Job! What was I talking about? Oh yeah, this fellow, let’s call him John Doe, that’s as good as anything, he refused the magic potion. He called it magic potion, I didn’t come up with that. The scientists got together and analyzed it. It wasn’t magic at all. It was simply a scientific breakthrough. The more they studied it, the more they started to understand a little bit about the way it worked and the more they shook their heads and wondered why it hadn’t been cooked up centuries ago. People started talking about a conspiracy between the pharmasutical companies and the medical people, but that didn’t make sense. So, you see, there was no magic. Get that thought out of your head right now. That’s not where I’m going with this; forget that idea.

The thing you need to remember is the fact that this wretched man had everything to gain and apparently nothing to lose. I mean to say his body was broken. He was in his forties and looked every bit of it. All those lost years in the bottom of the Big Creek coal mine does that to a man. No one could get inside his head to figure it out—the why of it. Everyone else in the whole wide world jumped at the opportunity, standing in mile-long lines for a sip or two. Don’t be judgmental. How long would you wait for perfect health? People died waiting until the distribution aspects were fixed. Naturally, there were riots in the beginning, especially in D.C. where the politicians figured they should be first in line. And of course, Hollywood. The riots petered out when the President and congress got involved and the military and National Guard, local police and fire, hospital ER’s, etc. etc. The distribution problems were resolved and then supply became an issue. More factories came on-line. Production doubled then tripled then tenfold, then a hundred fold over night. Finally, the stuff ran all over the world like water, like Noah’s flood, like manna from heaven. Everyone soaked it up and rejuvenated. It was miraculous. The blind could see, the deaf could hear, the lame threw off their braces and crutches and sprang to their feet like young hinds. However, there was this one problem that should not have been a problem at all if no one had noticed. But, how can you not notice? How can the populous as a whole not notice? This one fellow sitting in the corner at the Route 10 diner drinking a steaming cup of black coffee and smoking a Camel cigarette, looking out the window at the two-lane traffic, ostracized even by his own family, the villagers, the county, the state, the good ol’ USA, and eventually the world at large.

People came to talk to him, to try to persuade, to try to talk some sense into his thick head. He was a burr under the saddle. He was displaying extreme aberrant behavior. Many people began to say that he had to be breaking the law. Surely there was a statute or something that covered it, written in a dusty law book somewhere. That kind of obstinacy had to be unlawful, maybe inciting a riot or destroying domestic tranquility, something like that, but no one could find it in the books. Nothing written down. After all, who could have predicted it? The circumstances were unorthodox. No one in their right mind could have ever predicted a man like Adom Fyodorsky! He was a freak of nature, unreasonable, unexplainable, the last holdout, the last standing anarchist. His short answer, when prodded, cajoled, and eventually threatened: “I’d rather not.” That was it, and that answer was wholly lacking in substance and reason. “I’d rather not.” The proof was there, right there under his nose, staring him in the face. Yet, he refused all reason. Nothing good could come of it! Before it got really ugly, before it came to a head on the international scene, he was invited to go on TV and radio, Fox, CNN, and the radio talk shows. He dutifully complied even though he didn’t want to go, didn’t want the publicity, merely wanted to be left alone, but all the good people clamored and even made threats, and claimed that it was his civic duty. So, just to hush them up one last time, he went. In retrospect, that was a mistake, because his mediocre performance merely served to enrage the masses. Over and over again, on all the major networks, when asked directly by the governor, the President himself, even the Pope (in seventeen languages) “Why?” or “Can you explain yourself?” He merely responded, “I’d rather not.” That was the end of the media blitz, all those uncomfortable appearances for nothing. What can you do with a man like that? What can society do with an anarchist? Everywhere, in all the major newspapers and magazines the headline whimpered: “I’d rather not.” People, society in general, can only be civil up to a point then something has to be done. He had more than his share of chances. Why did he persist with his dangerous behavior?

The case was put on the fast track and went directly to the U.S. Supreme Court, then the World Court.  Protocol was followed in every instance. New laws were written and implemented which covered the situation. The legislators worked around the clock. Remarkably, even the ACLU sided with the plaintiff, if that tells you anything. Eventually, Adom was brought up on charges of reckless endangerment, rebellion, and treason against humanity. Everyone agreed. It was an open and shut case. He was provided with a public defender. However, even when faced with these serious charges, when cross examined on the witness stand, he merely replied, “I’d rather not.” So, he was ceremoniously found guilty of all charges. Even at that, what’s to be done with him? Obviously, it was a capital offense, but death by injection had been disbanded years ago, considered as arcane and cruel as the guillotine or death by hanging. The Nobel scientists of the world got involved. You see, this was such an outstanding case, people began to speculate whether or not something strange was embedded in the poor man’s genes, something fundamentally awry, something sinister and diabolical locked up in those insidious genes. Eventually, Adom was put in isolation where the air was triple filtered using the latest technology, locked in a lab-like environment like some kind of dangerous microbe. Top-dollar tickets were sold for the freak show and people passed by and gazed through the bullet proof glass and pointed at the unfortunate creature who sat at a table, smoking a cigarette, drinking coffee, and reading Dostoevsky.

A sizable debate and uproar followed. On one side, the humanitarians wanted to keep him alive but completely isolated. On the other side, those who were more pragmatic argued that it was too dangerous. They argued that it was only a question of time before something broke out and spread to the general population. The risk simply wasn’t worth it. Too much at stake. Too much to lose. After one incident in which one of the airlock dampers lost power, and the back-up generator failed to kick on-line, and several cubic feet of unpurified air escaped into the atmosphere, a world-wide riot ensued; thousands were trampled to death (even the elixir couldn’t save them), and people around the world exclaimed, “Enough is enough!” From that point on, the watchword became: Exterminate the Menace!

The obvious answer was incineration, but many of the scientists offered the theory that there had to be something at the atomic level causing the man’s insanity. Incineration then what? Those atoms had to be eliminated from the world altogether. That’s when one little pip-squeak scientist suggested blasting Adom into space, crash his frail, defective DNA into the blazing sun. Brilliant! Everyone in the world agreed; a rocket ship was hastily prepared. Even at that point, Adom was given one more chance to change his mind and simply drink a gulp of the wonderful elixir. But no, he wouldn’t take his final opportunity to do the right thing. He merely responded, “I’d rather not.”

On the last day, a couple dozen security people and a handful of technicians (exercising all appropriate CDC precautions) entered Adom’s isolation chamber and gave him a space suit which he dutifully dawned. Picture this: Billions of whole, healthy people (fit in body and mind!) all around the world sitting in front of their sixty-inch holograms, munching popcorn, and eyes intently watching the rocket ship sitting on the launch pad at Cape Kennedy, steam or some kind of cryogenic gas escaping from various ports into the clear sunny air with a blue sky backdrop, an occasional sea gull floating in and out of view high up in the heat waves. The countdown looms closer. Various technical people and world dignitaries gather on the platform and catwalk as Adom (wearing his silver space suit and carrying the portable air handling device) voluntarily walks to the spaceship entrance without cajoling of any kind then enters the spaceship through the open hatch. Three technicians follow him inside to strap him into the blast-off seat. Fifteen minutes later the technicians reappear and fasten the spaceship hatch with several non-explosive bolts. Hastily, the crowd takes the cat walk and exits the launch platform.

The countdown begins: Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. BLAST OFF! Every eye around the world is fixed on the rocket’s lift off and trajectory. At about fifty miles altitude and two hundred miles down range, the cameras switch from following the increasingly disappearing white dot to the tranquil spaceship interior. And there he sits. Violating protocol at this stage of the launch (which should have been expected), Adom removes his space helmet and unbuckles the restraining straps. People around the world inhale one long, unified gasp. What is he doing? What is he up to? Why this overt breach in procedures? And now, the Mission Flight Controller, Chris Kraft IV, screams into the microphone, “Adom, sit back down and strap in!”

Adom turns toward the camera and says, “I’d rather not.”

“Adom, this is a direct order from the President of the United States. Sit down and strap in or face the consequences!”

Adom does not respond. He begins taking off the silver suit. Underneath, he’s wearing his comfortable blue jeans and a gray T-shirt with a pocket. The pocket holds a familiar camel- emblazoned cigarette pack. Adom floats over to a porthole and gazes out into the wild blue yonder at the curvature of mother earth while all the while fumbling in his shirt pocket for a cigarette. He lights up and stands by the porthole thoroughly enjoying the ride, the spectacular scenery, and his last smoke. All the while, the President is on the speaker screaming,

“Adom, get back in your space suit. Do you hear me, you fool?!!

Adom turns to the camera and makes what the world believes to be his last obscene gesture. Suddenly, there’s an ominous hissing sound as one of those pesky rubber seals experiences catastrophic failure (according to the evening news). The last hologram image the world sees is Adom standing by the window blowing smoke up toward the ceiling. The spaceship disintegrates into a gazillion tiny pieces scattering through the stratosphere, carried along by the jet stream to the far corners of the earth. All that defective crap—DNA, unleashed chromosomes, and organic molecules drifting over the globe like a great cloud of locusts and coming down in the rain and snow and permeating the soil and plants and animals; And the sons and daughters of Shem, Ham and Japheth flee to the caves and cry out for the mountains and rocks to fall on them and hide them from the curse of the knowledge of good and evil.