Stories from Other Writers

The Great IKEA Game - Chapter 12

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Story Link :

https://batsandbugs.tumblr.com/post/651841554336579584/the-great-ikea-game

Masterpost Link :

https://batsandbugs.tumblr.com/post/644566288413392896/great-ikea-game-masterlist-you-can-read-it-here-on

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Just a Little Bit Lucky...

Edging closer to the atrium, Marinette kept a close eye out for Jason or Dick. Pitter-patter anxiety thrummed in her breastbone, and tension seeped into her shoulders. Walking closer they slipped into the crowd surrounding the glass balcony, to look over the scene below.

Pandemonium, perhaps, understated the situation.

"Oh dear," muttered Marinette, standing in front of the invested crowd.

"Drake you utter imbecilic moron," hissed Damian, sounding like he wanted to stab something, most likely his brother.

In the atrium below gathered a crowd a hundred strong, consisting of warehouse workers, Starbucks employees, cashiers and stockers, and a multitude of rowdy customers. Off to the side stood a group a gang of confused security guards.

At the escalator's base stood Tim; the jacket was gone, shoes still missing, hair a ruffled mess, and a maniacal grin stretching his lips. He stood addressing the crowd around him, in a surprisingly strong voice given his stature.

"...and the oppressor and oppressed, stand in constant opposition to one another. They carry on an uninterrupted fight, a fight that each time ends, either in a revolutionary reconstitution of society at large or in the common ruin of the contending classes. Understand that our modern society has sprouted from the seeds of an old system, one which still seeks to rule over us, and has established new classes, new conditions of oppression, new forms of struggle in place of the old ones."

Tim was an impassioned speaker, his words ebbing and flowing brimming with confidence and purpose. The crowd practically hung off every word he preached.

But Marinette concerned herself more with what he stood on, rather than what he said.

"Why is he standing on an overturned shopping cart?" she asked, her voice pitching in bewilderment.

"Tt. A useless endeavor to feel tall; he threw an absolute fit when I surpassed him in height two years ago," Damian confided with a smirk. "I propose a more important question; why is he reciting the Communist Manifesto?"

Marinette blinked, hoping she heard him wrong. "What?"

Damian leaned on the railing, gesturing to his brother below. "It's not word for word of course, but the words are recognizable enough." Well, Marinette bet not too many people memorized the Communist Manifesto, so she would silently disagree. "But it is quite frankly incongruous. Drake was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and bewitched his way into gaining another. He is the very definition of Marx's ruling bourgeoisie."

Marinette hummed. "People say whatever, to appeal to a crowd. Your brother, apparently, wants a spectacle, which a worker's strike will achieve. No one needs to know where it's from to find his words appealing." The gathered crowd grew more fervent with every passing word. Shouting and clapping filled the atrium until it almost drowned out Tim's words, but the young man continued on, the noise and excitement further encouraging him.