A committee of nearsighted ostriches votes to sacrifice a dove, just because it's Sunday. Three penguins robed in white toting baskets of red wine and stale crackers waddle into a nearby forest to enforce the committee's decree. They come upon their feathered prey bound by layers and layers of red tape to an old rotting tree stump. Circling the site of frequent oblation the servants of mandates utter prayers, chants and sermons against the evils of too many feathers. The dove ignores their sacred ramblings pulling free from his bonds, flying off into the sunset, joining a flock of pigeons in search of a cross to bear.
Cockroaches stop to warm themselves in the sun before crawling off in search of food.
In the corner a prisoner dressed in sweat stained rags rises from a flea enriched mattress and staggers towards the door, his dirt-caked barefeet crunching insects with each step. But the jailer fails to appear. Screaming, he utters a string of profane epithets, but still the jailer fails to appear. Defeated, he shuffles to a grimy basin, washing his face in its rusty torpid liquid. On the wall hangs the wedge of a mirror's remnant.