Paper Labyrinth
If all the ways I have been along were marked on a map and joined up with a line, it might represent a minotaur.
— Pablo Picasso
«What an enormous ziggurat,» said Mister Ant and deeply sighed. Inside, the yoke of bureaucrats reigned all the sheer hell. Behind the maze of corridors, deaf for applicants at his doors, one office-holder sat. Official Beater he was named, one office hour he had in one day in a year. He was as handsome as a swine, and trampled pearls.
In morning shine, John Ant, as well as everyone, was in a hurry to renew the licence for his life. The petty people came at five to take their places in the queue. The common folk with their needs disgusted by dishonest deeds rushed to the corruption den. They vainly dreamt of open space where they could find some peace and rest. And early in the morning when the early hour of dawn forced fury rage inside morons, they judged all people by the whim and brazenly extorted bribes.
When Mister Ant appeared in sight, official Beater grinned at him, and swelled with pride, and hissed as a bad-tempered rat. The honest man turned lobster-red. He smelled the stench of arrogance while the official yelled insults and emanated venom.
John Ant clenched fists and broke his back, but in a second, he revived with two heads on one neck. And now the country’s faithful son, John Ant, faced two foes instead of one.
And local clerks explained with smirks that the existed red tape force would crush the folk without remorse until all people young and old combine their efforts to confront the hydra-bureaucratic horde.
