Every year, the agricultural fair drew thousands.
The best corn. The best melons. The best sheep and cattle.
The best that the farmers of the state produced.
They competed for prizes.
First place to that calf, that bushel of corn, and that pig.
When the fair ended, the judges kept everything.
“Administrative costs,” said the judges.
Year after year, fair grew.
And so did the judges. Their arrogance. Their bellies. Their demands.
Then, one year, the exhibitors didn’t come.
The judges howled with rage, and demanded an explanation.
The answer was fire, sweeping across the fairgrounds, consuming the judges’ palace.