"Quick! Don't lose sight of him!"
"Burn him! Burn him at the stake!"
An angry mob stormed through the streets of Taun, wielding pitchforks and torches. Sweat, spit, and rancid breath followed in their wake. Throughout the city, those who were still at home and awake covered all the windows and put out all of the lights, fearful of the prospect of possibly interacting with this tumultuous crowd. As a result, the city was lit by the glow of the stars and flames. From afar, one could see little fireflies weaving between square rocks. One could even taste the fireflies' bitter rage in the musty air.
Among this blood-thirsty crowd, only one man lacked the gumption to fiercely curse their quarry. This man wore a black, thick trenchcoat and a black, wide-brimmed hat which sufficiently covered his body in shadow. In fact, the only similarity between this man and the mob was that he also held a large pitchfork in his left hand. Under normal circumstances, his companions would have found his appearance to be a bit odd since most wore only pajamas and robes due to being awoken at such a late hour. But emotion clouded their judgement and the anamoly was allowed to pass unnoticed.
When the crowd passed a particularly narrow alley, the mysterious man took the opportunity to fade into the shadows. Luckily, herd stampeded forward without him, as ravenous hounds chasing the cornered fox. But this fox was a bit too clever for the hounds, and ran the other way, dropping his pitchfork on the way to accelerate even faster.
He pulled out a red hankerchief to wipe sweat from his brow, while listening to the enraged barking of the hunters. What was once a roar finally diminished to a soft whisper. The dark figure let out a sigh and relaxed considerably. The chase was over for at least a moment.
And it was only a moment.
Someone nearby cried, "There he is! The communist dog! Kill him! Kill the fascist! Kill the racist! Kill the pagan! Kill the evil dictator! Teach those commie-bastards a lesson about democracy and justice!" The chase continued.
Continuing the hunt, the clever fox led the rabid mob to the outskirts of Taun. In his head, a crystal-clear image of a map of the city filled his thoughts. The glowing dot on the map, pursued by the angry red blob, was quickly approaching the red x. With that, the fox leapt over a picket fence and landed...nowhere.
The crowd was furious. "What the hell?! Where did he go? He can't have vanished; he's only human! Find him! Hurt him! Kill him!" Fanning out to cover all the possible routes of escape, the enraged group frantically searched for their prey, but to no avail. Simultaneously, a man with a black, thick trenchcoat and a black, wide-brimmed hat slipped out the back of the crowd, successfully weaving through a hole at the bottom of the fence and through the unobservant mob.
"Heh. That was quite a chase, but the fox always evades the hounds, if the fox knows the terrain. No ordinary american pigs can expect to catch Iosif Vissarionovich Stalin so easily." As he reveled in his glory, he barely heard the sound of an animal trotting through the streets. A lamb? At this time of night? No...it couldn't be. Stalin dashed toward the sound, quickly catching sight of to human silhouettes and the unmistakable figure of a sheep.
"Hey! You! Who goes there, and especially at this time of night? Shouldn't you be in bed?"
