The Contest

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“It’s getting too much for me,” said the leader of the Party in Power, his voice thundering through the sky. “I propose a simple contest, winner take all.”

“Oh?” replied the leader of the Opposition, the syllable materializing as a puff of flame. “This intrigues me. The terms?” “We select a mutually agreeable subject, an average man, and measure his tendencies toward our respective sides. The party whose ideology he leans to will gain custody of the species for all time. I’m getting too old to fight over each individual with you. Do you agree to the contest?”

“It sounds like a Hell of an idea.”

“It is done, then.”

John Smith was, of course, the perfect choice. He was of average height and average weight, of average intellect and income. Even his name was average. He went to work that morning just another one of four billion people, but, during his lunch hour, he became the sole object of attention of two great minds.

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