Vanquished

Vanquished

On the western side of the mountains, the invincible horde had been met by an indomitable will. At the end of a monumental battle, a quarter million "supermen" surrendered to the "sub-humans." This was the turning point of the great war. From that point on, until the final destruction of the invading malignancy, the defense forces followed, on a much grander scale, the figurative path scripted by a former commander when his armies drove another invasion out of the motherland.

On the eastern side of the mountains, it was a typical winter day --- safe but very cold. Temperatures there occasionally reached the point at which Fahrenheit and Celsius become indistinguishable.

A mother was rushing, with child in tow, to that wartime mall, the black market, where people bartered for necessities. She had dressed the little boy warmly, including long wooly underwear, long pants, a sweater, a hat with earflaps, an overcoat, mittens, and little boots made of felt. The felt was very effective because it was much too cold for snow or ice to melt and make it wet. Recently, the toddler's father had shown him the fascinating way in which saliva turned to ice, before it hit the ground with a clink.

Before the mother's destination was reached, the little boy stopped walking, in order to complain about some minor discomfort. The mother's hasty effort in dressing him for this important errand had been less than his temperamental fastidiousness required. In her agitation, she started to spank him, a very unusual response from her. But suddenly she stopped.

Advancing towards them was a disorganized column of misery guarded by armed troops. With their heads down, the prisoners were shivering in the remnants of their warm-weather uniforms. Icicles hung from the nostrils of the would be conquerors. The mother stared at the despised enemy shuffling past. "That nation of swine" she declared as frozen spit punctuated the ground.