The normal humdrum peace and tranquility characteristic of this quiet little island where everybody goes about their own business with impeccable discretion and the utmost of respect had its cages slightly shaken by the newly-acquired discovery that the ever-so-annoying dissidents who were not representative of the majority of law-abiding citizens who scuttled along with their eyes firmly on the ground had committed an act of unquestionable brutality that most certainly deserved further investigation by the rigorous forces of law and order that ensured the security of all its happy grateful people who wanted nothing more than just to get a good night’s sleep.
But no! There were some, a devious few it must be said, who wanted to usurp the rightful powers that be and possibly upset the smoothly-oiled apple cart, providing an opportunity for those nearby to gather up some of the fruit that rolled astray, not in an act of theft, you understand, but in rightful acquisition of a bounty that just happened to appear right underneath their noses and thus it would be a criminal shame to let such succulent samples of temptation go to waste in a land where thriftiness is next to godliness.
The police – renowned for their intrepid skills in the art of investigation – worked diligently in their determined quest to keep this land crime-free. So you can imagine how horrified they were to take up their positions of alertness come Monday morning, in a police station which was always a hive of activity, but now buried by a pile of missiles in the form of paper planes. Rightfully identifying these as weapons of mass destruction, police officers approached the scene with the same caution and effectiveness they’d used when two of their very own colleagues had arrived with a single fire extinguisher between them to fight back the fierce blaze caused by a massive car bomb which had blown a female journalist into pieces only weeks before.
They’d learnt their lesson and using arms-length sticks to prod at the mound of paper, one of them with an above-average level of literacy, realised that the missiles contained words. Amongst the hundreds of messages handwritten by the ever-so-annoying dissidents were two which were deeply ominous, perhaps, indeed, life-threatening.
‘Sleep with one eye open,’ were words which sent a shiver through the boys in blue for no matter how hard they tried, and they did try, they could not imagine how this would be possible.
‘We know where you live,’ read another, deeply disturbing in a tiny country where everybody knows where everybody lives.
They took the matter more than seriously, placing the Land of Serenity on high alert, but even this was not enough to dissuade a small but implacable group of women to storm the sacred bastions of Castille, their faces demonstrating none of the emotion usually expected from the fairer gentler sex. Undeterred by the fact the palace doors were closed against them, six women waited patiently on the doorstep until, in despair, the butler and the housekeeper ushered them in.
Face to face with their noble leader – a man embodying the foundational principles of the Land of Serenity – ideals of truth, integrity and justice, of Christian faith and honesty – face to face with a man who deserved his place above mere mortals, the women deigned to sit there calmly and read out their demands. All things said and done, their pleas were simple and nothing out of the ordinary in a land that prides itself on abiding by the law. They merely wanted their pristine leader to accept responsibility for the assassination of a journalist, a woman, a wife and mother just like them. Wanting to prevent the Land of Serenity to be tainted by impunity, the women further requested the removal of the Police Commissioner and the Attorney General from their posts, on the grounds that both men had completely failed in their assigned tasks of maintaining even the semblance of safety and justice in a land where both were regarded as sacrosanct.
Sadly, with a sigh and with a heavy heart, the noble leader looked at the women who, as women, although he did not blame them, were unfortunately doomed to know so much less than himself. Like a father wanting to spare his children, like a husband not wanting to bother his pretty wife’s head, he explained, and did so slowly, that although this situation caused him grave pain, that even he, not even he, could place himself above the laws of this sacred sacred land.
His hands were tied, his feet were bound and, while expressing his sincere condolences when referring to the untimely assassination of a journalist who had exposed corruption on an untold scale both within him and around him, it was with deepest regret that he informed the women that even he, a man of such high standing, but even he – however unbelievable this might seem and how difficult it was for him to concede – but even he, and this was said with bitter tears in his sympathetic eye – even he, the pinnacle of serenity – yes, even he, was not above the law.
Nothing is above the law in the Land of Serenity where the sky is the limit and limitations dissolve into the blue.