Two Evils

An elaborate and twisted metaphor for the 2016 U.S. election. A man finds himself held captive by a deranged jail guard. He is told that he will die but will be allowed to choose how.

A ringing in my head was what brought me through. Why hello there. I wasn’t expecting company. At least not in this peculiar situation I’ve found myself thrown into like a child learning to swim is thrust into the deep end of an Olympic pool; their father shouting for them to sink or swim. Excuse me, where are my manners? Allow me to properly introduce myself, dear reader. My name is Joe. Joe Jedermann. You can describe me as your typical run-of-the-mill American citizen. I’m thirty-four, white, and live in the South. Now, first thing’s first, I don’t want you to think I’m one of those rednecks when I say I’m from the South, oh no. I don’t live in the woods nor a trailer park and I most certainly don’t live in the ghetto. I live in a nice, non-descript quiet little suburban town called Vorort Der Stadt with my wife, two blond children, and our dog, Gattungsbezeichnung. We call him Gat for short.  I’ve lived a generically normal life in my three-bedroom home with the white picket fence outside. That is until just about thirty minutes ago. I can’t explain what happened, but I can show you.

5:15 p.m.

            “What the Hell?” I exclaimed as I came roaring out of my blackout. Immediately upon regaining my consciousness, I sat up and evacuated the soupy contents of my stomach onto the dusty floor next to me. It was dark so it took my eyes a few minutes to adjust. Once I gained my night vision, I scanned the environment and immediately noticed that I was locked within a jail cell. A dark figure resembling a police officer sat across the room by his desk. But he wasn’t leaning over it working on something, oh no, he had the chair positioned so that he could watch me stumble upon my disturbing discovery.
            “Good morning, America,” the figure exclaimed in a loud but gentle tone that I immediately saw through.
            “Who are you?” I asked, never bothering to wipe my vomit from the tile next to me.

            “My full name is Jonathan Der Medien, but you can just call me Jon.”

            “Oh…” I was confused, “Okay, Jon. Can you first tell me where I am?”

His upper lip snarled back and his nose scrunched up as if he smelt something rotten.

            “You’re in a jail cell,” He stated, sounding completely baffled by my apparent incompetence.

            “I know that,” I sighed, “But where is this jail cell?”

            “Inside a jail.”

            Annoyed, I scratched my chin and said, “Where is this jail located?”

I half expected him to give me another obvious response. Instead, he said, “It’s up in North Georgia in a town called Scarlett Falls.”

            I nodded, “I see.”

“And why am I in this cell?”

            Ignoring my latest inquiry, Jon climbed from his chair and crossed the room to a wardrobe. He turned back to face me, leaving the wardrobe closed for the time being.
            “You’re going to die.” He stated morbidly.
At this, my heart skipped at least a dozen beats.

            “I’m what!?”  

            “Going to die,” he repeated patiently.

            “I know! you don’t have to--"

            “Then why’d you ask?” He interrupted.

            “D****t, let me speak!”
He quieted down for the time being.
“What I meant to ask was why am I going to die?”

He stared at me silently for a moment, awaiting my cue for him to speak, then said, “Because I’m going to kill you.”

My heart skipped another dozen beats.

He’s going to kill me with a heart attack if he keeps making these claims I thought, exasperated.

            Suddenly, his expression turned into one of fake disappointment, “I know that face you’re making,” he said, “That’s the face of someone who’s void of hope.”

            I was taken aback. Void of hope what the Hell else would a person be if another man told him that he was about to be murdered?

“Don’t look like that,” he continued, “You’re not out of hope”

My heart rate of nearly two-hundred-beats-per-minute began to ease.

            “I’m not?”

He shook his head with a smile.

“You might let me live?”

He shook his head with a smile once again.

I paused.

“Wait…” I was perplexed. His mouth said one thing but his head said the opposite, “You’re still going to kill me?”

The smile remained on his face but his head nodded this time.

I grew furious with the man, “Then why are you telling me there’s hope!?”

            “I don’t see why you’re so upset, Mr. Jedermann. It’s not like your fate is decided for you.”

            “What do you mean my fate is not decided for me!?” 

He flinched at the tone of my voice, “No need to act so rash. You do get a vote.”

My heart, which had returned to its two hundred beats a moment ago, began to steady once more.

            “I get to vote on my fate? I vote that you release me from this cell!” I exclaimed.

            “No, that’s the third option. You don’t get to vote for that, that’s such a waste,” he laughed.

            “What do I get to vote for, then?” I whined, completely dumbfounded by the choices laid out in front of me. As of now, my options were to die, die, or die.

            “Fire or bear trap?” He asked.

            “Huh?”

            “Fire or bear trap?” He repeated as he threw the wardrobe’s doors open. Lying inside were two items; A blowtorch with a bottle of lighter fluid, and a giant metal claw that resembled the jaw of a Megalodon shark.

“I heard you. But what do you mean fire or bear trap?”

            He looked back at me with the same perplexed look he gave me a moment earlier, “I’m going to kill with one or the other. Which method of death would you prefer?”

            My eyes exploded from their socket like a cartoon character, “What method of death would I prefer!? Neither! That has to be an option!”

            He laughed once more, “That’s the third option,” he repeated.

            “Yes! Yes, it is the third option! I choose option number three!”

            “You can’t do that,” He remarked.

            “Why not if it’s an option?” My terror was beginning to give way to fury.

            “Because no one votes for the third option,” he replied simply.

            “Why not!?”

He shrugged.

“For the love of God!” I shouted then turned my back on the man.
            “Fire or bear trap?” He repeated in the same mindless tone.

            “If I can’t have my choice of the third option, then I refuse to vote!” My hands were tucked firmly in front of my chest like a pouting child in timeout.

“What would you say about that, hmm!?”

            “Then I’ll just have to speak with my colleagues and decide which fate is right for you.”

I spun around; face reddened with madness and rage, “Stop saying which fate is right for me as if there’s any difference!”

“What do you mean, Mr. Jedermann?”

“You’re only presenting me with one fate and that is my death!”

“That’s not true,” He retorted, “You have two fates; death by fire or death by bear trap.”

I sighed and hung my head in exhaustion. Arguing with this man was real tiring work.

            “But the end result is still the same,” I moaned.

            He paused, thought about it for a moment, then said: “Well, yeah.”

At this, a tremendous sense of victory flooded over me. I had done the impossible. I’ve argued a stubborn man into a corner where he finally admitted his defeat.

            Then, with a big smile, I exclaimed, “I’ll take the death by bear trap, please. Because even though it’ll kill me, It’ll burn a lot less!”

            He smiled at me and removed the metal contraption from the wardrobe and paced over to the cell. When he chained me to the floor and set the trap just above my head he looked down at me and said, “Every vote counts!”

Author's Note

What do you think of the subtle level of satire? Can you tell it's a metaphor for, not just the 2016 U.S. election, but all elections with only two choices?