Theatrical extras, birds and small mammals, escaped during a mystery play rehearsal (to have been performed here at the Temporary Museum of Enfant Terrible Culture).
The play, in synopsis, is a dramatization of a trio of stories concerning the same angry man, who knots ropes into a whip. He is better known in other stories for peace and thoughtfulness, with a skill in useful fiction. He becomes an anarchist after watching the plebs offer the weak to gain an honorable nod from the patricians, who claim access to The Divinity’s pleasure.
His whip is not a particularly lethal device but, unfurled in rage, it upsets the traders accounting. He madly denounces the cheapening of the sacred. Would any forego such commercial arrogance and accept this cleansing?
Alas, in later scenes, other actors bray their manly sins; a type of public self-flagellation – self-flagellation in a kevlar cardigan. Then they bellow scripts of hallowed words, for remission of their actions (with special offers to others, at a price, payable to earthly gatekeepers).
As the play goes on, those with an unconquerable desire to be despised offer their weak in exchange for a haughty nod from their lording creditors.
We are not sure how it ends, could this be comedic?
Anachronistic Anarchist by Herb Eaton 