The conference on stopping the War was scheduled for the morning on Easter. It was to take place in the Tennis Court in Verne arrondissement in Séanche. For historical reasons, any revolutionary investiture in the city was taken in that Tennis Court: you need to ban cars – you go to the tennis court; you need to protect dogs – you go to the Tennis Court; even the witch hunters have recognized the uncanny potentiality of the Tennis Court.

The pamphlets for the ‘NO WAR’ conference was being distributed from the following day the War had started. “We stand for the victims of war,” it read, with a bunch of different popular actors holding the board on which those words were written. “Gather on Easter,” at the bottom it was mentioned in small prints. Nothing else was written over it, it was know where it will take place.

People had gathered in the Tennis Court on the day on which War was declared. However, that made for a dry crowd, because almost no message got to the foreign element who waged the War on another foreign element (the neighbor of the foreign element who waged the War.) This is what you expect and accept when you do not have a journalist in your crowd.

Therefore, this time, the message, it was hoped, will be loud and clear: for the pamphlets had even reached the man who had become renowned for living in the snow-omnipresent caves to protect the environment.

“The infinite growth myth of modern economics is setting fire to the belly of the Mother Earth,” he used to cry furiously. “The infinite cannot be fashioned by the hands of men, Idiot bourgeois-lickers!”

When he got fed up at last by the hypocrisy of all greedy men, he sold all his fortune, packed whatever he can in a truck, and left for the caves in the North.

Now, when the organizers were informed that he was coming, their courage to overthrow the foreign element with their protest grew outrageously wild like a bull who has just seen a clown.

Swarms of men and women gathered inside and outside of the Tennis Court. Majority of them had worn a golden cock-shape dress, on which, in big black letters were written: “NO WAR, ONLY PEACE.” On the back, it was written: “TAKE PEACE OR TAKE DEATH.” And the face of the foreign enemy was imprinted encircled within the prohibition sign.

There was a white platform on which there were two black chairs, and mics were kept on those. The cave man and a fat, pig-nosed man took those chairs.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the pig-nosed man started, holding the mic with his hairy hands, “Do we like to gather here? Do we like to waste city’s time? Do we like to add to the noise pollution? Do we want to give pain to the Earth with our non-existent God damned feet? Do we? No Madame. No Monsieur. We don’t, we hate it. But certain group of people, having a certain kind of mindset, who can also be found in our country, the hate-mongers, want to destroy everything for their profits and selfish goals. And that, my dear citizens, we cannot let happen. Do we citizens?”

“No,” a roar came back from the crowd.

“That crony needs to be shot through whole of his body,” said the Cave man, in his soft voice, extending his support.

“Yes. Correct. Absolutely,” the crowd muttered in themselves.

“Now, we would like to urge our members to come on stage one at a time, and deliver their message,” growled the flat, pig nosed man.

Hearing the message, a tall man, whose height may not have helped him enter normal buildings, hopped on the platform in a single jerk, not from the little stairs but directly jumping on to it, scaring the little ones already on it.

“Welcome, insect, animal, eggs friendly citizen. Please deliver your message that you have been boiling in your head.”

“I want to say only that,” he shouted into the mic, bursting like a drum, “together with this crony, the cronies, the wealth stealers in our country ought to be cut off from their bodies.”

The crowd became overjoyed on this proposition. A twinkle of approval shined into the dark blue eyes of the Cave man.

The next speaker though was of normal height, his face and every bit of the skin was covered in tattoo marks. His nose hosted a bird, which gave fire into his forehead. Both cheeks having the cactus engraved onto them; you felt as if the cactus thorns could pierce; but it was no real thorn, the wrinkles on his face made it look that grotesque way, much to the dismay of Mr. Volcano.

“Yes, please, Mr. Soth Volcano,” welcomed the pig-nosed man.

“I totally agree with the esteemed speaker who spoke before me,” Mr. Volcano proceeded, “that monster, that old fat crony is destroying what we stand for: he is the one to bring war in the loving continent of ours, he is the one to destroy the progress which the people, who are victims today, made. Now, if we do not help to stop this horrific war, that son of a bitch will trample on what have been built on this continent in centuries, even if he succeeds in doing it only in a minor percent. We must not let that happen. We must not. We must send nuclear to our victim friends. That’s how he will shudder and stop the dissoluteness he is unleashing.”

“Yes, send the nukes, send them, make him pay, make his country pay,” the crowd said in unison, jumping here, there, and everywhere like little monkeys.

Next up was a thin man with sad little eyes. He was so frail that the crowd felt that he might not stand even for five minutes straight.

“Citizens,” he said, with his death stricken voice, “I do not think we should escalate this war by talking about nukes and other arms. Negotiations – that’s what we should focus our attention on.”

The Cave man and Pig-nosed man stared at him as if they had seen Medusa. The golden cocks hearing these words got all puffed up, engulfed in furious flames, as if pure iron had started flowing through their circulation system instead of blood. The thin man was hit multiple times by baseballs. Some in the crowd regretted that they hadn’t brought the bats in, while some resorted only with: “Booos.”

The Pig-nosed man quickly came into action as if he was struck with Tesla’s alternating current. He grabbed the mic, and yelled:

“I am sorry. Apologies for this kind of blasphemes. He will be banished from the society; I will personally look into it.”

The Cave man nodded, while controlling his fists so that they may not hit the melancholic eyes. If death had not loomed over the thin man, he had not have to make such a grave effort.

The next on the stage were two nude women, who had their face painted in with the flag of the victim country, and were wearing a sky blue hat which resembled a boat.

“Did you see citizens, friends, peace-makers: what complacency can do?” the one on the left said.

“Complacency gives birth to these scumbags, my dear love-citizens,” the second one continued, pointing to the thin man, who until now had become a reptile.

“We need to kill that crony, we need to kill him soon,” cried the first one.

The crowd hailed and cheered as if they had seen the almighty himself. And the one on the left took out a photograph of their crony from her hat. The right one, simultaneously, drew out a Finnish knife from her’s, and stabbed the photograph of the crony on the platform. Seeing all of this the golden cocks got overwhelmed with emotions: stimuli of extreme agony for the victims inundated with vengeance for the crony.

Here, the Pig-nosed man came forward, and told the crowd to fill out the petition form, which they will be giving to the President.

“Mr. President is with us, citizens. Do not worry. He just wants to know what our demands are – he will take action. We need to fill the forms out and hand it over to him. It will be within days that you will find the crony in his burrow,” he grunted. “Please collect the forms from Sally.”

And Sally was already dashing out the forms like a brilliant chef. The Cave man, noting the time, and failing to resist the call of the cave, sailed away, stopping only once at a deserted garage and taking a black parcel from a certain heave-eyed bald man. While, the Pig-nosed man was struck with an “important task,” and went into the outskirts of Seanche, where they say, “Passwords are indispensable.”

Meanwhile, the crowd sat filling out the pages of War and Peace for not more than a week.