"All of a sudden you look so tired...If there was just some way we could make a little hole in the bottom of the bag, and just take out a few of them lead balls. Just a few."
George and Hazel were watching ballerinas dance on TV. Hazel saw that George was tired and told him to rest o the pillows or take his handicaps bags off. Then she told him to do something else.
"If I tried to get away with it," said George, "then other people'd get away with it-and pretty soon we'd be right back to the dark ages again, with everybody competing against everybody else."
Inside the screen:
George tried to think a little about the ballerinas. They were performing poorly. They were burdened with sashweights and bags of birdshot, and their faces were masked, so that no one, seeing a free and graceful gesture or a pretty face. He was toying with the vague notion that maybe dancers shouldn't be handicapped.
"Harrison Bergeron, age fourteen," she said in a grackle squawk, "has just escaped from jail, where he was held on suspicion of plotting to overthrow the government. He is a genius and an athlete, is under-handicapped, and should be regarded as extremely dangerous."
Inside the screen:
"If you see this boy, do not - I repeat, do not - try to reason with him."
"My God, that must be Harrison!" George Bergeron correctly identified the earthquake.
"I am the Emperor! Do you hear? I am the Emperor! Everybody must do what I say at once!"
Clanking, clownish, and huge, Harrison stood - in the center of the studio. Everyone was on their knees before him, expecting to die.
Diana Moon Glampers, the Handicapper General, came into the studio with a gun and fired twice, and the Emperor and the Empress were dead before they hit the floor.
"You been crying,"what about?"
"It's all kind of mixed up in my mind..forget sad things,"