MY WORDS

 A sudden change had occurred. He felt it and it made him look. The passive crowd had adopted a restlessness that made him look from behind the stage high above the level of the audience, look over their heads all the way to the back. He could see a sea of shifting movement, a sort of shimmering, subtle but it was there. He noticed the constant hum, a low drumming vibration of mumbled, background words, louder shouts slowly gaining frequency. The gradually increasing volume suddenly captured him. He swung his gaze around the auditorium, sensed the moment was approaching when he would be able to utilise the passion of expectation and drive it upwards using words, carefully crafted words, words prepared and presented in such a way to maximise effect, to mesmerise, almost hypnotise and for that the crowd’s fervour needed to be reaching its zenith, not quite at its summit but almost there. Timing had to be exact and that was the secret. He would let the expectation build a while yet. 

Two sets of wide double doors at the back were open allowing a steady stream of people to further compress those already waiting with their patience straining, starting to stretch, starting to break out of its natural constraints. Shifting, pushing, forcing the front lines against the barriers erected in front of the stage, the only line of defence from what was rapidly becoming a hotbed. Here and there hands raised, fists punched the air. Chanting. Calling for him. The air itself starting to become stifled by noise, shouting, and the sheer suspense of anticipation. 

Standing in the doorway he let the crowd see him, but briefly, enough for a reactive yell. Slipping back out of view he let the tension grow, worked it, massaged it, as it lifted to another dimension. Heard the noise level settle but perceived it was only pausing, waiting eagerly for… he appeared again, slipped in suddenly to stand next to the podium. Stood tall behind the lectern. The crowd saw and heaved forward. He tapped the microphone. In unison the crowd screamed. Holding his hands aloft, palms facing out, he extended his fingers pointing towards heaven. Pandemonium erupted. It was now. They were fully primed. His words started simply, “People,” He yelled, nodding his head, casting his gaze.  

Throwing his arms wide he repeated, “People,” but louder, much louder, provoking wild euphoria. Now they were at their most vulnerable point. He waved his hands in a downward motion. Twice, three times. He had them, had captured them, held them in his outstretched palms. Their sudden silence crammed with anticipation of what was to come. Slowly he let his words flow. Deliberate phrasing, gradually lifting them as the words flowed freely, higher, higher, then higher still, raising in volume, the crowd lifting with him, matching him until they reached a storming crescendo, the culmination of passion accompanied by a final explosion of jubilation as his speech concluded.  

He waved, immersing himself in the atmosphere as the whole room cheered, applauded. Surged forwards as one, crushing the front rows onto metal bars. Clapping furiously as he turned to leave. All the time he waved until he was clear, out of the rear door to be security shielded across the pavement, through the throng, to his waiting limousine with its bullet proof glass glinting in the bright light. Drove slowly away as the crowds parted, palms on the windows, banging on the roof. 

Finally sitting back, he contemplated the reaction to his performance - nothing less than perfect. The message had been sent and had been absorbed. The media? they would not take any persuading to report his speech the way he intended. 

As the car cleared the area and hit the main road towards his country residence his aid said, “What a show, you were magnificent, so dynamic. You’re so good it makes me think - do you ever believe your words?” 

He grinned at his aid, slapped him on the shoulder, and laughed, “What a great question.” A small chuckle, “My words, do I sometimes believe them? What do you think? I’m a politician all I do is wind them up, get them to a precise point then tell them what they need to hear, what they want to believe, then, all that’s left is to leave the truth to the world’s imagination.”