“Crease-lings and the Saved” / Memorable Fancies #4145

       When a crease-ling is born, there is great rejoicing among parents and neighbors. They know it is a crease-ling by small lines – rather like creases – underneath its chin. These lines are easy to overlook, and who knows how many hundreds of years crease-lings had been born, lived, and died without reaching their destiny because these tiny creases had not been noticed, or if they had, government officials had not realized what they meant, how a crease-ling, properly raised and trained, could become powerful, strong in mind and spirit, trained to stand against our enemies and those among us who have taken up rebellion or scoffed at our national greatness.

       Newborns with these crease-marks are put forward by their concerned but proud parents for official recognition as crease-lings. As The Crease-ling, I should say, the one who will be trained to lead and control the people. Some are found not to have creases at all and are sent home, assigned to their fate as horse-shoers, brick layers, or field hands. Those confirmed as having the right creases in the right places – members of our upper class, predominantly – are sent away for leadership training.

       Some never return. This occurs when there is a crease-ling already chosen for rule, or already ruling and not yet ready to give over the throne. None the less, it was an honor to have been chosen at all, and their families commemorate, with suitable honors, the sons and daughters they will never see again.

       But there is a savior in waiting, it is said in whispers, a hidden crease-ling, one who will save us from the crease-ling we have now, he who has taken our fields and farms and waged war, sending our youth to die for his glory, for those marks of glory under his chin.