Dark humor

The darkest days, are sometimes the days in which hero's are no longer made or born. In fact hero's don't want to pop their head out from underneath the bed duvet, in case something rather evil happens. In the darkest of days there is no such thing as heroism, or a revolution,

There is order.

and any who disobey order, are in fact, heretics that should be burned upon a cross while still breathing the very air they defied. While the population stood and watched. Some were even given water buckets to hold.

It was good order.

Every one did as they were told. Crime was just a myth, poverty just a nightmare, although, a good deal of the population found that they were in fact, extremely poor. But they knew not to complain about it. Well they could complain if they wanted to. The freedom of speech was still very much free. Its just all those who did use their freedom of speech, would be heard screaming for help six feet under in their recently filled graves a few hours later.

It was very good order.

So much so that the coffins had pipes running from them to the surface. Allowing the occupants air. Also allowing the occupants to die of starvation rather than suffocation. It rained a lot here and not wanting to derive the occupants of the refreshing rain, the pipes on the surface were shaped into funnels. The occupants always had a good supply of water, sometimes a bit to much. But those were the lucky ones.

It was very good order.

People ignored the screams from the coffins, people held buckets of water that could put out the fire on the burning, but they washed their hands in it. They had no other choice. In a world were survival means being ignorant of the suffering of the brave around you. This city was filled with the most ignorant people on the planet.

It was superbly good order.

and worst of it all.

The leader was getting bored.

"Sargent... Is there not anything to do today? Not a heretic to burn? Or a nay sayer to bury? Or..."

Alexis's eye lighted up as his mind briefly flashed him in image of breaking the knees of a tenant somewhere in town.

"Some one who hasn't paid their taxes? hmm? Ooo! I'll go get my club! I think the one with the rusty nail in it. That ones a crowd favorite!"

Said Alexis as he hopped through the palace, searching large chests of goods attempting to find a decent club. While digging through the third chest he suddenly stopped, his head snapped towards the Sargent. A menacing glow emanating from his eyes.

"Well?"

Sergeant Crowley suddenly bursts into the room, exhausted from a long run. He quickly bows before his leader.

"Sir...You..You better see this...*pants*...There's this one girl right? From one of the smaller towns...I...I think she's one of those witch types..."

"Oh goody!"

Squealed Alexis with joy. He quickly ran over to the first chest he rummaged through. Pulling out a rusty pitchfork and an unlit torch. He skipped over to Sergeant Crowley handing him the unlit torch.

"Lite that will you? Then lets head to this witch of yo- Oh I almost forgot! How silly of me."

Alexis quickly ran back to all his chests and found few buckets stacked with-in each other. He counted eight of them. He pinched them underneath his arm before heading back to Sergeant Crowley.

"Right! Lead the way Sergeant."