There was turmoil outside the building. Hundreds, probably thousands of hungry victims came pounding the gates, desperately asking for food, for shelter, for hope. Amidst all this, Allan Francisco, sat comfortably at his humungous swivel chair, nestling his mammoth-like body. There was a burst of roaring and crying outside, yet he didn’t hear it. His iPod entertained him, turning him deaf from the commotion.

A couple of knocks at the door somewhat turned him back to his senses. His drooling eyes, gently but slightly opening into consciousness.

“Mayor, the goods had just arrived, three trucks for today.” Said the man who just came in.

“Perfect, get the people outside to line up and order them to shut the fuck up!” He ordered.

Mayor Allan, or most commonly known as Manong Allan by his constituents is considered by many as the most beloved leader this town has ever known. He won a landslide victory a few years ago against a well-experienced lawyer who had served this town for more than ten years. He was never hesitant, though, just because he had never earned a college degree or had maliciously attempted to earn one by pressuring the local college, it doesn’t mean he couldn’t be the number one. Thanks to his PR consultant, a notable executive in the industry, Manong Allan managed a home run.

He lazily tried to raise his bottom from the chair, roughly tucked his shirt inside his pants and made his way towards the door. At the back of the Town Hall was a roomy warehouse where today, several tons of relief goods from all over the country are being unloaded from the three trucks that came. More are to come later. Perfect indeed.

Jess volunteered today at the Town Hall. Although he himself was a victim of the flood, something inside him says he should help instead of asking for one.

“Good Morning Manong Allan,” he greeted the Mayor at the door.

The Mayor nodded in recognition and walks around the vast expanse of the warehouse. Jess idolized him. He is his inspiration. The Mayor, the one who started with nothing, was catapulted to power by those who love him and now, is being tested for his resilience. That’s what he liked most about Manong Allan. He never shows how weary he has become amidst all this. He stays and tries to look strong for his people.

Or so they think he is.

“Melba,” Allan called the woman busy counting the goods that are slowly flooding the warehouse floor.

“Yes, Manong?” responded Melba who nearly jumped in surprise with Allan’s high and dry voice.

“How many canned foods do we have in every bag?” He asked.

Melba opened the one she was holding, “we have at least five.” She added.

“I think we have too much in every bag. We need to re-sort them so that we could give to more people. Cut them to three canned foods apiece.” He ordered.

Melba nodded in agreement. Her Mayor thinks for the people.

Or so they think he is.

At around midnight, when all the volunteers were gone, Manong Allan, together with his most trusted men started moving the re-sorted canned goods to another warehouse at the Public Market. The warehouse was smaller than the one at the back of the Town Hall but this one, isn’t empty. There were tall cabinets, dividers and boxes all over. All of which contained more canned goods. Overnight, Manong Allan’s trusted men moved all of the re-sorted goods to his warehouse, where tomorrow, it will be tagged, priced and sold at his very own Supermarket.

Perfect. Manong Allan thought.

Two days later, the rain washed everything again. The flood rose too deep that even the tallest houses in town was fully submerged. The first deaths were recorded, even Manong Allan had to move his family to the roof as the water rose in minutes. After almost a day, the rain had stopped and the town was turned into a sea.

Manong Allan had to act according to his mandate. Thousands now pounded the gates of the nearly destroyed Town Hall. He himself needed help, his people needed him. He had to find a way. Manong Allan took his cellphone from his wallet and dialed continuously.

The phone rang and shortly afterwards, a man in a very tiny but gentle voice answered.

“Good Morning, Mr. President.” Greeted Manong Allan.

“…yes… we need rubber boats.” He agrees to the man on the other line.

“…and food too. We are totally isolated… Even I saved nothing Mr. President…”

“…five choppers… really? You would do that?” Manong Allan felt relieved.

“…yes, of course. Can you send food as well?”

“…that’d be great Mr. President. Thank you very much…”

Manong Allan is happy. At least he could get more than what he had nicked last time. More help is on the way.

About several hundred miles away, Mr. President sat blankly on his elegant swivel chair. He had just received a call from the Mayor of some 4^th class municipality asking for help. He should help them, of course. He is the most beloved President of all time. Just before that call, the UN had pledged to give $20Million for calamity assistance.

$10Million will go to the victims, and the other half will go to his account. He knew they wouldn’t mind. He is the considered the best leader in Asia. The people knew he worked well.

Or so they think he is.