Reclamation Day
A Short Story
- This is a work of fiction, any resemblance the characters in this story might have to people in real life is entirely coincidental -
It was a cold sunny October day with a breeze that blew right into the bones and sent shivers down even the most warmly dressed of persons. Many of the poorly robed folk of Wealthsfield were gathering in the town center for a long awaited event.
Today was Reclamation Day.
A young Susie Dawkins stood next to her mother as more and more people congregated around them. Susie pulled her coat which was too small tighter around a dress that was a mixture of patchwork fixes and dirt stains. Many in the crowd were wearing old and tattered clothing, resuscitated through repair as if they had not replaced them for years. There were smudges of filth on some faces, and the majority of the hundreds gathered were on the thinner side of the weight spectrum with several looking malnourished.
In the center of the square, a ramshackle wooden stage had been hastily constructed so that everyone present would have a good view of the proceedings. This was a traditional event which was why the presence of every citizen, including children was required by law.
Susie Dawkins had just turned four and this was her first Reclamation Day experience.
As families and friends trickled into the surrounding area, Susie heard the great blast of a fog horn whose long and loud note startled everyone present, causing many to jump in alarm.
A tall thin gentleman in an old dark suit climbed the three stairs to the stage in a leisurely manner and strode to the microphone that sat upon it. He had a long distinguished grey beard that hung down his front like a thick silver neck tie.
“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, “As the mayor of our fine home, I want to give a warm welcome to all of our young newcomers, and to the majority of you who are returning for our thirtieth Reclamation Day! Welcome!”
Fragmented cheers rose from the crowd which were swiftly drowned out by a most hearty and passionate applause.
“What’s Reclamation Day, Mommy?” Susie asked her mother who stood next to her small daughter with a hand fondly resting on her head.
“I already told you, Reclamation Day is a town tradition dear,” she explained quietly as the gentleman continued his introduction, “It’s the day when we reclaim what’s ours.”
“What’s re-claim?”
“It means to take back. Today we are taking back our town from those who would take it from us.”
She then shushed her daughter’s next question and pointed to the stage as horn music began to play and a small procession commenced. As Susie looked through the bodies she saw five men in business suits being led up the stairs, all of them bound in heavy chains that clanked as they shuffled under the weight.
“Who are those men, Mommy?” little Susie asked looking up at her mother. Three of the men were monstrously fat, one of the five looked like an amateur bodybuilder, and the last of them was an average looking bald man.
“Those are billionaires sweetie.”
“Bill-yon-aires?”
“A billionaire is someone who has over one billion dollars”
“A billion dollars?”
“That’s right.”
“Is that more than a thousand?”
“It’s much more than that.”
“Is it like a million?”
“It is much more even than that.”
“It’s more than a million dollars?” Susie asked in amazement.
“Oh it’s a whole lot more! It’s not easy to understand because once the numbers get that big our brains struggle to comprehend them.”
“What’s that Mommy? Compree-”
“When you understand something,” she explained, ignoring her daughter’s age momentarily in her eagerness to educate, as parents often do.
“You see, the difference between a million dollars and a billion dollars is nine hundred and ninety-nine million dollars which doesn’t really mean anything to us. It’s hard to understand. It becomes a little easier if you look at using that money. So say you wanted to spend a million dollars. At a rate of $1000 per day, it would take you about thirty-two days, but if you wanted to spend a billion dollars at the exact same daily rate, it would take you thirty-two years!”
“Thirty-two years?” Susie asked with astonishment.
“Thirty-two years! Isn’t that crazy? $1000 per day for thirty-two years.”
“Is $1000 a day a lot of money Mommy?” Susie asked, reminding her mother that she was in fact four and had no conception of the value of money. Mrs Dawkins laughed.
“It’s an awful lot of money sweetie. It’s nearly fifty times what I make. Here, you can count seconds. We’ve counted together before.”
“Yeah. Like in a thunderstorm?”
“Exactly! Can you count out a few seconds for me?”
“One telephone, two telephone, three telephone…”
“Good,” Mrs Dawkins interrupted, “So if you counted out a million seconds like that, it would take you around eleven and a half days to do it. But to count out a billion seconds would take you thirty-one years!”
“Can I count out a million seconds Mommy?”
“Please don’t,” Mrs Dawkins said looking back to the stage with a frown and entirely giving up on educating her daughter for the day.
The five billionaires were finally dragged up on stage and lined up before the crowd and the old gentleman took the microphone to begin the day’s work.
“First,” the mayor announced, “We have Cam Cuckerberg, who founded the company Grey Matter, and has helped establish the security systems we protect our homes and businesses with. Once hailed as a prominent genius, this man has devolved into a power hungry snake. He has consistently used his success to manipulate what we know to be true, and to sow discord among the members of our fine community. He has used his systems to spy on us and to learn how the human mind works, so that he can use the very basis of our personal interactions to pit us against each other. By distracting us and flooding our social networks with misinformation he has been able to impose the most egregious invasion of our privacy in the form of his cyber security network and has now become a burden on our fair town. He has caused us to mistrust one another so he can sell more unnecessary security. He has also used the data he collected on human behavior to target advertisements at us specifically, harassing us at all hours of the day in order to sell more of our attention to the highest bidder. He has made neighbor doubt neighbor and driven us to paranoia all to increase his earnings. By using these disgusting methods and others associated with his class, he has attained the illegal billionaire status and must pay the price! WHAT SAY YOU!?”
“YEA!” the people of Wealthsfield roared in agreement. The thin bald man at one end of the lineup winced at the crowd’s response and glared out at the townsfolk that he clearly believed were beneath him. The cold wind blew making him visibly shiver.
Cam Cuckerberg was the youngest on stage at forty seven, and had been mocked as a child because he was a malevolent and whiny boy. After dropping out of college he entered into the private security field as a career, hoping to develop systems he could use to protect himself and spy on his enemies, and which enabled him to balloon his wealth and leave his troubled life behind.
“Now, as is custom, we give Cuckerberg an opportunity to speak.”
The average looking bald man stepped up to the microphone and cleared his throat.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” he stated proudly, “I’m just a hard working citizen that’s been very successful. I have earned every cent I’ve made protecting you and your loved ones and I haven’t committed any crimes. You can check! This is just petty jealousy from those who wish to continue to bully me from my childhood and I think it is pathetic.”
His audience roared in displeasure and someone threw a tomato at Cam Cuckerberg which hit him under his jaw and caused him to snarl at his attacker. Cheers rose from those present. Cam was dragged away from the microphone before he could say anymore and the mayor resumed the proceedings after using a gentle hand to calm the crowd.
“No more produce please,” the mayor proclaimed with a stern look which faded into a gentle smile.
“Next is Natzen Müsiken, the foreign born immigrant who has joined our little community by purchasing our local supermarket chain and carrying it to incredible success which helped him become the richest man in the world. Despite our welcome, despite our tolerance, once his success had been established, he raised the cost of his goods beyond their need. He priced most of us out of the things we rely upon, all so that he can hoard astronomical amounts of wealth and power.
“Many of you have gone to bed hungry or cold in recent years because of the prices this man demands for things that were once affordable. Our greedy friend refuses to acknowledge that in our closed monetary system with finite printing capabilities, the more money he possesses, the less that is available for the rest of us. He blames the poor and destitute for their misfortunes, ignoring mental health and macro economics. The generations we hope to leave our town to do not think they can afford to have children anymore in part due to this man. We are all worse off while he holds power. By using these disgraceful methods as well as others typical to his class he has attained billionaire status and must pay the price! WHAT SAY YOU?”
“YEAH!” the townsfolk sounded once again and the tallest of the fat men but also by far the sweatiest, lumbered up to the microphone to speak in his defense.
“I just want to commend you all on this interesting tradition,” he started nervously in his Argentinian accent, “I can’t help but feel a mistake has been made here in my case. There are no laws against raising prices on the goods I sell, nor is there a limit on how much prices may be raised. This seems like an administrative error and I believe I am within my rights to sell my wares at whatever price I choose. It seems unfair to punish me for being successful.”
The townsfolk momentarily considered these patient words and the practical line of thinking until someone in the crowd shouted aggressively, “BOOO! You don’t need that much money!” and the rest of the crowd joined in.
Having lost the audience, the fat man began to sweat profusely and due to his hands being cuffed, he was unable to tend to the sheer rivers of sweat that were streaming from his brow into his eyes which made him blink like an idiot. He looked shocked and scared as he was pulled back into line to be replaced once more by the wise mayor of the town.
“My people,” he began, “Our third reclamation project is none other than Thomas Brian Junior! And while we all love a double first name, we must hold this man accountable nonetheless. A few of you will remember our twenty-eighth Reclamation Day when Thomas Brian Senior stood upon this very stage and was found guilty of attaining billionaire status. Despite only being forty years ago, the adolescent Thomas Brian Jr did not learn anything on that day as we see by his presence here all these years later. He continued with his family’s terrible legacy of inflating healthcare costs and has taken it a step further by paying private sector members and minor government officials to weaken the regulations that protect your health, my dear citizens of Wealthsfield.
“He does this so that he can poison your water and pollute your children’s playgrounds without breaking the law! We are told these regulations are hampering his business, that they are unfairly restricting his earnings, all so that he can remove them and speed us to our demise. He cares not for the wellbeing of his fellow citizens, instead choosing to spread sickness among us.
“He operates our healthcare system, implementing the same insurance scam that his father attempted all those years ago! He creates the sickness and charges us for the medicine! A more despicable apathy for the brotherhood of man you would struggle to find, perhaps even upon this very stage. By using these inhuman methods as well as others he has stolen for himself the illegal billionaire status and must pay the price! WHAT SAY YOU?”
The common people of Wealthsfield were beside themselves with fury. Many had lost loved ones who were unable to afford the medicine or treatment they needed to live. Susie’s own father had died just two years ago because he could no longer afford the price of his insulin.
Thomas Brian Jr was not only a horrible person, but he represented an ancient uncaring evil of mankind, the sort that is passed down through rich families. It is an insidious attitude that is wholly selfish and is quite a regular occurrence among those who have lived the privileged lives of the ultra elite. They become accustomed to looking down on people and begin to struggle to distinguish their fellow man from the animals.
Thomas Brian Jr was the fattest of the five brought onto the stage, and he waddled to the microphone to have his say. He was the oldest man on stage at seventy four years old, and the soft wrinkles on his face suggested it had been a stressful life.
“Anything I did was because I endeavored to heal the people of this community,” Thomas Brian Jr began in a quiet, polite voice, “I just wished to provide caring assistance to those who can afford it and despite what you monsters said then or now, my father was a great man.”
A member of the crowd lunged forward in fury and grabbed ahold of Thomas Brian Jr’s swollen ankle, pulling it towards him and toppling the great mass of a man, who fell backwards onto the stage with a pathetic shriek. His head slammed into the wooden platform and blood began to dribble down his pudgy face. He tried to roll himself to a safe distance but was too large and ungainly and had to be helped by the two guards who had escorted him to the proceedings.
“You’re all monsters!” he spat at the riotous townsfolk in a shrill voice as he slowly clambered to his feet, the more responsible of whom were holding back their more enraged members. The wiry old mayor took the microphone and quickly retained order through the respect and love he commanded.
“Please,” he said firmly through the loudspeakers, “All in due time! We must be patient.” The crowd was once again placated for the moment.
As Thomas Brian Jr was pushed roughly back into place, he requested medical assistance for his scalp which was still leaking large amounts of blood. No help was provided and he hung his wounded head as people pointed out the hypocrisy of his request with jeers and taunting to sting his pride.
Reclamation day continued.
“FOURTH,” declared the mayor, “We have George Malice! Let me remind you that George Malice, on top of taking billionaire status, has been accused of predation and assault on multiple members of our community. The daughters and wives among you have a fear of this man that is unfairly put upon them, and I am sorry to you, for our failure to protect you.
“George Malice inherited most of his wealth, thanks to his father skirting just under billionaire status for the majority of his life. Because we are not an impractical people, you may be a millionaire or even a multi-millionaire and live within our society, peacefully as a friend until your natural passing. But George could not handle the humility. Here is a man who spread lies about companies so he could purchase their stock for cheap. He has fabricated wealth, betrayed business partners, and if left alone in a room with a woman he deems attractive enough, has demonstrated a lack of self control that would embarrass even the most dependent of addicts.
“He doesn’t understand the meaning of kindness or money, having been gifted a business empire at the age of five that was managed by his father for him and which allowed him to live a life of absolute luxury. Through this man’s eyes, everyone is a servant. And yet it still isn’t enough!
“He takes what isn’t his, he complains that people do not respect him, and he lies through his teeth like the devil himself. I have never seen a more shameless creature in my entire life. He imports foreign products and pretends they are made here, he claims to be a patriot and disrespects our brave soldiers, he projects his own pathetic insecurities on others as he lies and lies and lies. On top of that, he runs his company like a Nazi dictator, punishing those who disagree with him and constantly complaining about how unfair everyone treats him. He has skin as thick as cling film and has in several instances wrongfully fired workers for speaking the truth.
“He has even tried to run for mayor! I hate to imagine what such a disreputable and irresponsible person would do with so much power.”
Here the old man paused for effect before announcing, “Probably put an end to Reclamation day itself!”
Many gasps could be heard from the crowd before the mayor swiftly continued.
“Yes, my friends! He could even take away something designed to protect us! Thomas Brian Jr does it, why wouldn’t this one? They are of the same ilk. And despite his horrible crimes against the women of our town he uses his wealth to avoid our justice systems! He pays his way out, each and every time, bragging as he does. By using these fraudulent methods on top of his disgusting predatory habits he has foolishly claimed the billionaire status his father so carefully avoided and must pay the price! WHAT SAY YOU?”
“YEA!” the people of Wealthsfield roared again, in a notably higher tone than previous times. Several of the women present and their teenage daughters had suffered traumatizing run-ins with the accused criminal, but due to his affluent wealth and lies he had disparaged and blamed them in the media to an extent that none of them were ever successful against him in court.
George Malice stepped toward the microphone to make his defense. The fat little man was gloriously adorned in gold with a noticeable brown toupee and old wrinkled skin that had been stained the shade of leather with too much fake tan. He was famously insecure, trying to disguise the natural signs of aging in order to pretend to be something that he is not, and probably never was: an important and attractive person.
“I don’t know what the mayor is suggesting but I don’t like it,” George Malice announced looking around with his beady, pig-like eyes, “This news is fake! This is a witch hunt by the corrupt establishment to get rid of me for trying to help you! They don’t want me fixing this town, they don’t want me making it great again! They want you to be poor and sad and that’s not what I want! Look at your clothes, look at what you’re wearing! They did this to you, not me! I can help you.
“Many people come to me, they come with tears in their eyes, they say George Malice, you are a great man, you saved my company. They say thank you to me, these strong men and women, they thank me for working hard and helping our great community. They say, you should run for mayor, you’d be better than that sleepy old mayor we have now who tries to give everyone free stuff. They say this, not me.
“I would never do anything illegal, this is all a hoax! Do I look like a criminal? Women love me, very pretty women love me. Maybe these women you’re talking of were losers I rejected, but I would never do the things you say, although I could. I have money, I could do it, but women love me. Everyone loves me. VOTE GEORGE MALICE FOR MAYOR!”
Several women cursed George Malice at this point and Mrs Dawkins covered young Susie’s ears to avoid her from hearing the foul language.
The mayor once again strode across the stage to the microphone and took it gently in his old hands, stepping to it like a crooner from the past.
“All in good time,” he said with a soft smile at the agitated gatherers, “We have one left.”
The crowd grew silent as the last billionaire was brought forth for judgement.
“Fifth,” the old man said with a flourish, “We have the fabulous Esteban Hesos, broadly considered the only respectable and hardworking man among those on stage. A child of immigrants, Esteban was born right here in this town and we love him as one of our own. However Esteban has bribed members of our government to give him tax breaks, despite being one of the wealthiest men in the world. And how did he do this? He had them cut funding for social welfare programs. That’s right! The escalation in crime and poverty that have run amok in our small town are direct results of Esteban’s sabotage to our methods of providing for our most vulnerable citizens. We have had to increase the budget spending for our police force because of this and raise taxes on the lower classes.
“Not only that, he specifically circumvented our tax laws by paying himself a low salary, with the intent to use loans and the stock value of his company to pay for his lavish lifestyle. He pays the workers of his company an even smaller amount than himself, legally the most minimum wage possible, many of whom were forced by this low wage to rely on the very social welfare programs Esteban demanded be cut so that he could make more money! Profit is this man’s only interest and he has forsaken the town and it’s people to financially ascend. By using these underhanded strategies as well as others he has risen to the lofty highs of billionaire status and must pay the price! WHAT SAY YOU?”
“YEA!” the people of Wealthsfield clamored in unison. Esteban Hesos crossed his muscled arms and looked down on the crowd through his dark sunglasses. He did not look happy.
“And now, a word from our sponsor,” joked the old mayor taking a step to the side to allow the prominent businessman who had funded so many advertising campaigns throughout the years to have his say.
“Mighty people of Wealthsfield,” he began in his powerful voice, “I stand before you today to apologize for my actions! I did not intend to cause suffering or undermine the social welfare nets of our gracious and noble society. I was blinded by wealth! I was consumed by power, and I wish to offer my deepest condolences to anyone who has been affected by my behavior! I promise to return as much of my wealth to you as I can, to the people who deserve it, the hard working men and women of this community. I swear I will be better in the future. Please, forgive me. I offer myself up for your judgement.”
The people of Wealthsfield were uncertain after this address to their humanity. They looked at the billionaire, strong and confident, begging for their forgiveness, and many of their hearts were swayed. There were a few cries from the crowd to let Esteban go, to give him a chance to fulfill his promises and improve life for the folk of the town.
The mayor stepped forward once again and nodded understandingly up at Esteban Hesos who was pulled back from his position in front of the microphone so the elder statesman could continue. The ancient figure once again held up a hand to quiet his discordant audience.
“I commend Esteban for his beautiful speech. Such considerate and apologetic words will not be forgotten here today. This is only the second time in history we have recorded an apology. However, he stands on this stage for one reason above all others. He has attained the status of a billionaire, and as we have known since time immemorial, you do not become a billionaire through any means that is fair and you do not become a billionaire by accident.”
Many members of the gathering turned to one another and mumbled in agreement.
“We must remember, that these men could give back to our society at any time before this day. They can see the deeds they do and the impact they have. They bear witness to the society’s struggles, to our struggles, and they choose to ignore them. Why, Esteban could have paid his fair share of taxes and he would still be one of the wealthiest among us. He could live happily with nine hundred and ninety-nine million dollars, but that was not enough for him.
“He is guilty, just as the others are. He could at any point provide his workers with adequate wages, donate to charity, and pay what is owed by him to the society that he relies upon for everything he has, and he chose not to. And now, on the day of Reclamation, where we take back what was taken from us, withheld from us, through duplicitous and underhanded means, it is only today that we see any remorse from the man.
“Do not be fooled by these crocodile tears my friends. Their actions are what we judge, not their words. They chose unimaginable wealth over sustaining a functional society, and the burden of that choice must be paid by those responsible. All of these men believe that you are wrong, and that is why we have Reclamation Day in the first place.”
Reclamation day was established for many reasons, the most notable being that there was no fair means of becoming a billionaire. As the mayor had stated clearly, each of the men on stage had inflated their hourly rates and swindled their workers, or their customers, or their business partners, or the society as a whole, all to make more money for themselves. Corners were cut, risks were taken, bribes exchanged hands and all manner of dancing just inside of the boundaries of what was acceptable had eroded the civic structure and there was simply too much power now in the hands of too few. Many lives had been lost because of these men and their lofty desires.
The imbalance these men create is evident for all to see, and they choose not to act on it. They were not special or unique in this matter. Humans have consistently shown that they are susceptible to the corruption of power and wealth.
There is something in the nature of humans that causes people to desperately seek purpose and meaning, and unfortunately when money and power are used as flawed substitutes, the lack of satisfaction creates a vacuum within the person that they cannot fill. It will never be enough.
And unfortunately, they will never stop because they believe someday it will be.
Another notable reason Reclamation Day was maintained on a twenty year cycle, was because despite the existence of Reclamation Day, the town was still creating billionaires. It took some time, but they were always there, every single Reclamation Day.
All five of the accused knew that Reclamation Day was a law, they had all witnessed previous ones when they were young men and even some before that as small children. They were well aware that there was a punishment for becoming a billionaire and yet here they were, five men who simply ignored all of the warnings and rules that they felt shouldn’t apply to them, proving by their existence that Reclamation Day was indeed a necessary tradition for the town.
Because once a man becomes a billionaire, any loss of status was an awfully far way back down to go, and they will do anything harmful and corrupt in order to keep from making that descent.
Reclamation Day was the day that the people became knights, chasing after mighty dragons who hoarded their gold for prideful and pitiful reasons. And now the dragons had been defeated, all that remained was the final ceremony.
The five men were led away to be prepared for the closing event and the old man took the microphone for what would be the last time that day.
“My friends, my family members,” he began, “It is now time for reflection. It is time for us to come to the point of Reclamation Day, and to identify those truly responsible for these men. For it is you and I.”
The mayor looked around the crowd with a soft smile, and a kind glimmer in his eyes.
“Yes, we the people are responsible for allowing these men to attain this status. Many of you were bribed to allow these men to continue to perpetuate their actions. Witnesses who provided false alibis, government officials who looked the other way or justified the rollback of regulations, members of the insurance system who denied claims to their fellow man knowing that it would cause their end, and so on.
“We the people are no more innocent than the billionaires we created. We are their workers, their shareholders, we are the people who justified their insidious actions to each other and didn’t hold them accountable when they bent our rules to breaking point. We let them use our roads and our land, we let them use our time for their labor, and our connections and transport for their distribution systems.
“We have given them all of the freedom to succeed in the world, and succeed they have. And in return, they have corrupted us. It is easy to say that when the need arrives, we will use our power to stand up and fight, but while you have your power, you will not have the need. It is only when it is too late, that we see what the cost of our sin was, each of our individual moments of weakness collecting to form a massive mosaic of collective corruption.
“Now, today, on Reclamation Day, we reclaim the taxes they didn’t pay for the use of our services and systems, we reclaim the pride that was lost when they looked down on us, we reclaim the shame they put upon us when they abused us, assaulted us, made us work for less than we are worth, all in pretense that their time is more valuable than any other member among us. It are NOT! They are flesh and blood just like the rest of us and today we prove it! Today we apologize to OURSELVES for allowing this to happen to each other. TODAY WE RECLAIM OUR VERY SOULS!”
A massive cheer went up from the crowd as everyone was riled to inspiration by the mayor’s speech. This was a man they all loved and trusted, a man who did his best despite the odds. This was the man who even took the time to dress up like Santa Clause for their children’s Christmas joy. He was a true member of the community, with many relatives among the crowd today. He smiled proudly at the congregation before him before he made his final statement.
“It is with great pride that I announce that the closing ceremony has finally arrived, and with it, comes the last task of Reclamation Day. We must provide a sacrificial surrogate from among us, to pay the price for our inaction and our corruption. To serve as a modern day Jesus as is tradition, and take on the burden of our sins, of our weaknesses, and of our humanity. As is custom, I, the mayor, will bear this responsibility. It is with the most humble pride that I can make this final act in order to fully serve our community and maintain this fine tradition of Reclamation Day!”
There was no applause. There were no cheers. The people of Wealthsfield fell quiet as they grappled with their own shame and responsibility in enabling the billionaires to ascend to power once again. There is never a shortage of need for the flexible uses of wealth and power, and so humans will always allow those hungry enough to claim what isn’t rightfully theirs, due to corruption or personal shortcomings.
This is why Reclamation Day was founded, to provide a consistent backstop against the frailty of human resistance. The townsfolk had a part to play in this deceitful power game, and so in order to pay penance, it was only fair that one of their member offer themselves up with the billionaire class, to take responsibility and to free the remaining citizens of their guilt.
Because only when good men and women are willing to sacrifice everything for what they know is right, can the wicked truly be held accountable.
A child started to cry, many of the women and men gathered were wiping tears from their eyes. The mayor was a man who had helped raise them, who had been a figure head for years, and while the corruption did occur partially under his command, many of the billionaires utilized established rules and loopholes in the laws to undermine his ability to curtail them. There was a sad moment where everyone looked upon the mayor with love and remembered the impact that he had created in their personal lives.
This was the cost of their inaction.
“Not you!” a person in the crowd called, “Take me!”
“No! Take me! I’ll do it!” another shouted. Suddenly half of the assembled were pressing forward, offering themselves up as the scapegoat.
The mayor raised a steady hand and the people fell quiet.
“It is already decided,” he said with a smile, “Do not deny me this responsibility and honor. We all have our roles to play. Let us proceed.”
With that he turned and walked off of the stage, making his way down the stairs to the gathering of people waiting at the bottom. They were his followers and dearest friends. He spent many minutes saying goodbye to people, handing out hugs and kisses, bending to embrace small children who would fondly remember their admirable leader.
At last he came to Mrs Dawkins and little Susie. Tears peaked in his eyes and his smile faltered for a second as the mask he was wearing slipped before his own family. His only daughter could not contain herself as she embraced her father, crying into the shoulder of another loved one that must leave her too soon. How cruel the world was, that good people must pay for the crimes of the selfish. The cost never falls on those truly accountable because they are the type that take no accountability.
They must be held accountable against their wills.
The mayor pushed his daughter to arm’s length and looked into her sweet, crying face.
“Buck up kiddo,” he said with a smile, “You need to be strong for our little one.” He winked and then slowly squatted down so he was on eye level with Susie.
“Never forget this day my beautiful grand-daughter,” he told her, “I pray there is a man with heart enough to stand up and take accountability for the town when you are my age.” With that he pulled the small girl in who didn’t really understand what was at stake, and wrapped her up in his warmest hug. When he finished he half stood and pulled her mother in to the embrace, so the family could share a tender final moment together before the final ceremony.
After that he gave his gentle smile to those around him and turned to lead them to the field where the closing ceremony would take place. Like a shepherd, he was loyally followed by the flock of people that were celebrating Reclamation Day as according to their duty.
The field was owned and maintained by the town, and it was a broad flat expanse surrounded by a waist high stone wall. As the people finished collecting near the entrance of the field, the mayor departed to take his place in the proceedings. The townsfolk gathered on either side of the entrance to watch the sad parade that was to take place.
After a few minutes, the deputy mayor, appeared to continue with the schedule. He was much younger than his senior, with dark brown hair and an honest face. He had been elected along with the mayor and would now take on his role once Reclamation Day was over.
The deputy mayor sounded the fog horn for the last time that day, and one by one, the billionaires were lead into the field, walking through the corridor of space the crowd provided, stripped of all material possessions aside from a small box that each was carrying between their hands. On closer inspection, it could be noted that the boxes were in fact crudely secured to their hands through a combination of nails, rope and duct tape causing a small trail of blood drops to follow the forlorn procession. All of the billionaires were as naked as the day they were born, most of them displaying their fat unpleasant bodies that were as repugnant as the wealth they had hoarded.
They looked miserable and lost, some had tears on their faces though whether from the pain in their hands, regret for their actions, or self pity at their situation it couldn’t be known. Cuckerberg was out in front and looked almost as malnourished as a few in the crowd in comparison to the three rotund pigs behind him. Esteban resembled a tanned skinned god with his bulging muscles and luscious black hair. Vanity had not been something he lacked.
George Malice came off the worst, having been disguising his true ugliness from the world, without his toupee or his bronzer he looked like a weak, bald, and pale old man. Following behind Esteban was the mayor, still wearing his clean suit, and willingly carrying his own box without the need to secure it to his gentle hands. He walked calmly with grace and poise and smiled reassuringly at the townsfolk as he passed in between them.
They were lead by the guards to the far end of the field where they stood in a line about thirty feet apart facing the people.
“And now,” announced the deputy mayor in his high youthful voice, “Let the reclamation begin!”
The crowd did not cheer. The field was filled with an ominous silence as everyone waited for the event to start.
Cam Cuckerberg went first without warning as the box in his hands suddenly exploded. The sound was deafening. He was encompassed by a black cloud of smoke and bits of him were hurled in all directions as he ceased to exist. A mild misting of blood was sprinkled on those present.
The four other billionaires looked on in horror.
“Please!” cried Natzen Müsiken, “Please don’t do this! I’m sorry! I’ll give it all-”
BOOM!
Natzen Müsiken blew up. His face, still painted with terror, disappearing from the world within the small explosion that blasted his fat sweaty body apart.
Thomas Brian Jr was pale, although it wasn’t certain whether it was from a lack of blood or a wealth of fear. He had seen his father go in the same way, and yet he had still sought to attain the lofty status his Dad had, as if he was trying to surpass the disgrace he had been raised by. He hung his head in resignation and waited for his own explosive device to end him.
And end him it did.
Thomas Brian Jr went with a loud bang and the puff of a dark acrid cloud as his limbs were launched across the field from where he had once stood. This specific progeny of evil was no more.
George Malice was not a man of any kind of quality. His cowardice came out as soon as the first bomb went off and he began pleading with the people that had gathered to watch his execution.
“Get this off of me,” he shouted to them shaking his box, “You don’t want to do this! I have friends in other towns! Very powerful friends! They love me!”
But as the billionaires before him were blown to smithereens by the bombs they carried, an end suitably made by their own hands, his desperation took over.
“Please! I have money! I’ll give you whatever you want! I won’t touch another woman as long as I live! I swear it, I’ll do anything! I’ll confess! PLEAS-“
And then he was gone.
Reduced to a puddle of blood surrounding mounds of flesh and bone, left to litter the Earth for the birds and the bugs to devour later on.
Esteban Hesos did not stand quietly either. He was a magnificent specimen of a man, not overly bulky in his nudity, but he was built like a refined athlete capable of great strength. In his final moments he tried to overcome the pain and pry his hands off of the box he possessed, to rid himself of the death sentence which he himself had brought upon his head.
He shook his hands desperately as the explosions went off one by one, his once tanned face turned as white as a sheet as he attempted to avoid his fate. Suddenly to the surprise of all gathered, including himself, he managed to pry one of his hands from the box with a cry and he looked up with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
The holes in his liberated hand spurted blood messily onto the ground. He tried to throw the object from his remaining restrained hand, hoping the force would finally free it, but the box wouldn’t budge. In a last minute decision, he held it out as far as he could from his brawny body and readied himself as best he could in the hopes that he could survive the blast.
And he did survive it, for a brief time.
The explosion destroyed the right side of his body, his face was burned and melted, and his innards tumbled out onto the grass as he screamed in agony. He collapsed from his one remaining leg and lay facedown in the dirt, struggling to breathe with what was left of his lungs. Parents covered their children’s eyes to prevent them seeing the scene. What would have been a quick and instantaneous death now became a drawn out and disgusting one, with tears rolling down what was left of his face as Esteban pitifully cried himself into oblivion.
All that was left was the old mayor, standing before the townsfolk whom he loved and served dutifully, holding his death in a box in his hands.
As all eyes turned to him, he shook his head at the remains of Esteban, and brought his gaze up to the crowd.
The mayor was scared, you could see it in his eyes, as all humans are when they prepare to acknowledge the breadth of their life and the result at the end. He smiled bravely, despite his oncoming annihilation, and looked around the faces of the people he knew.
“I love you all,” he said with a smile, “Remember this day, I do this for you.”
He hugged his box to his chest, and with that he was gone.
The people remained in the field for a time, consoling each other over the loss of their leader and beloved community member. Susie Dawkins began to cry when her mother told her she wouldn’t be seeing her grandaddy again. After roughly an hour had passed, people began to pass through the gate of the field and depart for home.
The next day the deputy mayor assumed his new official role and began with the final touches to the consequences of Reclamation Day. The wealth that the billionaires had collected was identified, in all of its numerous hiding places, and brought into the light where it was distributed equally to the various charity systems the town employed for this very reason. The great reclamation machine had been turned on once again. With an influx of funding, social welfare programs could provide provisions to the poor and mental health care to those suffering from the weight of existence.
Over the next year crime plummeted as food became affordable and corruption decreased due to the citizens having what they needed, and being less vulnerable to bribery. Money was spent fixing the town, rebuilding what had fallen into disrepair.
There were no figureheads of wealth to cause jealousy, or to inspire the evil of man to rear its ugly head in pursuit of useless financial competition. The people were satisfied with what they had for the first time in a long time, and life in the small town flourished once again as a new generation of children, including young Susie Dawkins, were allowed to access a better education, and the tools they would need to build upon their proud little town and improve the quality of life for those who lived there. The schools received funding, the roads were repaved, the medical infrastructure was refinanced off of the greed of the those who abused it for personal gain.
The town of Wealthsfield truly began to live up to its name, all thanks to the destructive tradition they enacted every twenty years, and which they would continue to revive according to the allocated cycle.
Because sadly, despite the well known threat of execution, the town of Wealthsfield had never been forced to cancel a Reclamation Day.
There was always at least one billionaire to blow up.
© 2025 Sebastian Arends | Sincerely Seb. All Rights Reserved.
Unauthorized use, reproduction, or distribution of any part of this story or accompanying image is prohibited without expressed permission from the author.
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