The Sleeper Awakes
Mangala sat up and, brushing the sand from his powerful form, gave a mighty yawn. The war had been a tiring affair, and even four months' sleep seemed somehow insufficient, even for a god of war and empire.
He blinked, rubbed his eyes, then looked about eagerly. What news, what great surprises might await him four months after the Coalition victory? With an Iraq at peace, guided swiftly to the ways of democracy by the beneficent hegemon, who knows what miracles the world had seen during Mangala's absence?
Israeli and Palestinian sharing the land as friends and colleagues, perhaps. Piles of weapons of mass destruction, uncovered in the Iraqi wilderness, now piled high, awaiting the cleansing flames that would burn them into mildly radioactive plowshares that glowed in the dark as an aid to nighttime farming. A new Saudi Arabia, guidng the faithful to a moderate view of ethic and morality. Perhaps, even, a penitent Osama bin Laden and his terror teams, brought to justice and proclaiming great sadness over their misguided deeds.
Ah, thought Mangala, after victory comes the fruits of victory. And he reached for a pile of slightly yellowed newspapers.