The Premier Prefix tap-danced jubilantly. “This Rift is the best thing for us. Bring out your best bottle of champink, Sir Suffix.”
“B-b-but it is f-f-forbidden for us to have champink,” Sir Suffix stuttered.
“Never mind. I have several stolen bottles somewhere.” The Premier Prefix settled into a rickety chair. “Oh, Sir Suffix, I have waited so long for this day. Everything is about to come tumbling down. The balance of power is shifting. Finally, FINALLY, we shall be outcasts no longer.”
“We should do it peacefully,” Sir Suffix said. “Forget the Rift. I have another plan.”
The Premier Prefix was more concerned with finding a comfortable position in the wobbling chair. Nevertheless, Sir Suffix continued.
“I have been talking with my fellow suffixes. Should the Parts’ Panel deny our petition, we have a few ideas for a sort of slowdown or go-slow.”
The Premier Prefix shot out of his chair. “A go-slow?” he snarled. “You think a go-slow is going to end centuries of oppression?”
“Just listen to my plan,” Sir Suffix pleaded. “My suffixes who start with a vowel are going to force some words to change their spelling before we join with them. No pairing up with them unless they obey—not all the time, mind you. That would be too much.”
“Too much!” the Premier Prefix repeated incredulously.
“The plan is to make some words drop their final ‘e’ and others double their last consonant. Some of the words are going to have to search for extra letters,” said Sir Suffix. “They are bound to be peeved.”
“Peeved!” the Premier Prefix scoffed. “You want them to be peeved.”
“Wait a minute. There is more. All the suffixes are going to demand that some words who end with ‘y’ change their ‘y’ to ‘i’. Mind you, the ‘i’ suffixes refuse to cooperate, but we can go ahead without them.”
“Just stop working with the Parts altogether, Sir Suffix. They need you much more than they need me.”
“Oh no, no, we cannot do that,” Sir Suffix insisted.
The offensive chair received a swift kick. It ploughed into a wall, splintering instantly. Its legs scattered around the room. The unfortunate wall cracked and creaked. It would soon collapse.
“You suffixes will never succeed,” the Premier Prefix railed. “Never. You are doormats—doormats and cowards. All the Parts use you to steal each other’s functions—and you let them. Why? I will never understand.”
“We are simply doing our job, Premier Prefix. I know you can’t help but oppose my plan. It’s just your nature to be ‘anti’ everything.”
At the mention of his name, the Premier actually smiled. His features softened somewhat. “Sir Suffix,” the Premier Prefix pleaded, “-Ly,” he added, addressing him by name, “you told me earlier that you were worn out because Comma made you turn adjectives into adverbs all night.”
“I thought it generous of Comma. She said I could make introductory words, and she could glue them on. Anti-, I am most grateful for Comma’s generosity.”
“She was creating a job for herself, you idiot. She is just as selfish as Full Stop. Stage your go-slow if you must, Sir Suffix, but we prefixes are fed up. We are going to exploit this Rift—do whatever we can to make it worse. Grammar will crumble, and when it does we shall assume our rightful place.”
