The Elephant and the Puppet Masters
Part 3: In which a female mouse becomes the loudest voice in the Elephants head
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental. Where your imagination takes you is entirely up to you. All speech included below is protected by the First Amendment, at least for the time being.
Dear reader, this should be the last installment of my story, but no promises. Stories have lives of their own. If you have followed the last two episodes1 of On the Shelf, you know that President Elephant won the highest office in the land, shortly thereafter declaring himself King. Under his cruel rule, the country fell to its knees. Even those who once supported King Big-Ears (he’s spied on us all) and his techno-bro sycophant sidekicks had come to understand their mistake in pledging loyalty to him. Yet they didn’t know what, if any, action to take. They feared for their lives and the lives of their loved ones, so they did nothing but hope that somebody would bring an end to his reign of terror.
In the meantime, deep beneath the marble floors of the palace, in a cavern lit by bioluminescent fungi and a glimmer of hope, the underground rebellion gathered strength. Let’s see what is going on.
The War Against King Elephant Unfolds
The war against the techno-bros and King Elephant began several moons ago with little fanfare. Scarcely a soul knew it was happening. If the so-called king were not such a tyrant, I would feel sorry for him. The lumbering old fool holds himself in such high esteem that he doesn’t have a clue he has less power than a Field Mouse. In fact, between his sycophant puppet masters and the mouse, he has no power at all. They’re in complete control—for without them, he’d scarcely know what to think or what to do. He trusts them completely, believing they would do anything for him. He believes they fear him, when in reality, they control his every move as if he were a giant marionette.
The planning of the pacifistic war was so meticulous and subversive that nobody in King Elephant’s kingdom realized they were under siege, even with that silly Double Agent the Rat—the same one Field Mouse spotted on the eve of the revolution. The Rebellion’s War Commission managed to evade all of the listening devices planted throughout the land and skies by the sycophants' technology companies.
The critter armies each took on specific roles. The Mole Army devoted itself to digging and maintaining a complex network of tunnels throughout the country, allowing all manner of citizens to travel and communicate freely and undetected.
The Bird Army dedicated itself to maintaining the appearance of bird-business-as-usual. Ducks and geese collaborated on dumping massive amounts of scat on King Elephant’s palace cameras, while raptors dive-bombed the palace guards to disarm them hourly, preventing them from shooting down the rebellion’s eyes in the skies.
The Cricket and Cicada Chorale filled global human communication channels with messages disguised as electrical static. Human rebels decoded and spread the messages to other nonviolent combatants.
The Mouse Army worked in cahoots with their rodent sisters and brothers to chew through all wires within the Palace walls. Field Mouse the Fearless spent every day with King Elephant, which is where I find her today.
Unassuming, she perches in the royal crown as if it were her private litter, spending days and nights whispering into the fool elephant’s giant ears. The throne room is dark, save for the last candles available in the kingdom. She knows no fear, but he has come to fear her voice in his head. Although he’s not the religious type, he believes hers might be the voice of God, for it was surely manifest destiny that brought him to power—she told him so.
In her soft voice, she whispers into Elephant’s ear, “The time has come, o’ divine one, Lord King. You must sever the ties that bind you to the sycophants whose false flattery you have mistaken for loyalty. They have fooled you; you are doing their bidding. You are their puppet.”
King Elephant sits heavily on his throne, the weight of his crown pressing down as though it were made of stone instead of gold. He shakes his massive head, trying to clear the strange voice that has plagued him for weeks, yet it grows louder with each passing moment.
“You are their puppet,” Field Mouse repeats. “Do you not see how they control you?”
King Elephant swats his ears with his massive trunk. “I am King! They obey me!”
The mouse holds on tight, almost tumbling overboard. “Oh, my dear King, you believe they obey you because they wanted you to believe they feared you. You are not their master. You are their tool and their fool.”
“Enough!” King Elephant roars, the sound echoing through the empty throne room. The guards outside the doors shuffle nervously but dare not enter. Their king’s outbursts have become more frequent as of late, and none wish to be on the receiving end of his wrath—or to lose their heads to his ax.
Nestled within the intricate golden lattice of the crown, Field Mouse remains perfectly still, her small form hidden among the gemstones and engravings. For weeks, she has lived here, whispering carefully chosen words into the hollow of King Elephant's ears, alternating sides to confuse him. Her voice, amplified by the curvature of the crown and his own paranoia, is the only conscience he has ever known.
Field Mouse grins. Thanks to the Mole Resistance Network, she had easy passage into the throne room. The Bird Army’s diversions gave her the chance to climb unseen to this strategic perch. And now, she is an invisible force guiding the kingdom’s most feared ruler. Soon she will successfully sever the Techno-Bro enablers from the King, chewing through the strings of their puppetry. Her voice will be the only one in his head.
“Your advisors do not serve you. They serve themselves. Look at the chaos they have sown in your name. Their technologies have wrought massive destruction to the earth, stealing the life and livelihoods of all that call this planet home. The Worker Bees who survived the Bee Plague—those who voted for you in the first place—now despise you. They’ll no longer even do their natural work of pollinating or making wax for your candles.”
The mouse braces herself for another childish fit. He reminds her of a giant baby.
King Elephant grits his teeth. “Lies! Lies and slander! They are loyal to me! They have no reason to betray their king.”
“And yet,” the mouse replies, her voice patronizing, “why do they always speak in riddles? Why do they hide their dealings from you? Have you not noticed how often their words contradict their actions?”
King Elephant frowns, and a seed of doubt takes root. He recalls hushed conversations, sudden silences when he enters a room, and cryptic reports that seem to say much but mean little. Could it be true? Could his most trusted advisors be plotting his downfall?
Field Mouse enjoys the silence as her words sink in. She knows the tyrant’s mind better than he does himself. Fear and doubt are powerful tools—she learned that from observing him.
The candles flicker as a draft moves through the throne room, and King Elephant feels a chill run down his spine. He glances around, suddenly aware of how alone he is. For all his supposed power, there is no one he can trust—not even himself.
Outside the palace walls, the rebellion stirs. The Mole Army continues to expand their network of tunnels. The Bird Army disrupts the palace’s defenses with relentless precision while keeping watchful eyes on the land below. The Cricket and Cicada Chorale hum their coded messages into the airwaves. The tide is turning, slowly but surely.
And atop King Elephant’s head, Field Mouse watches it all unfold, biding her time. The king may never know of her presence, but her influence is undeniable. Each whisper brings him closer to the brink, and soon, the final act will begin.
To be continued someday . . .
Dear reader, I know how uneasy ambiguous endings make some people. This story remains unfinished for the time being. One day in the not-so-distant future we will know the conclusion, be it happy, sad, or somewhere in-between. Until then, keep the faith and fight the good fight. Refrain from violent thoughts, and join the Underground Rebellion near you. In doing nothing we die a slow dark death, but in doing something, there is always a glimmer of hope for a better life.
Marvelous! Vive la conscience!