Worst Weekend Ever 5 "The Rebel" (Fin)

[ForceFusion]

This is a little mini-series of my journey as a writer. Writing is difficult and this is a series confronting that. It's mostly non-fiction. In fact, it's a little bit of a journal. I really don't know what it is, but the three pieces are connected in one way: they all come out of this terrible weekend I'm just getting through. There may be a follow up series.

 

Untitled 5 "The Rebel"

 

The night comes. Hands gripped on cold steel, jaw carefully clenched shut, he watches as the world burns around him. "What have I done?"

 

Daylight

 

A rebels stabs a nation through the heart with a microphone. With a microphone necessary wounds are borne, and more heal. A nation's shameful history is brought to light, not for shame but for reconciliation. For honesty. We must see our past for our future.

 

Some cannot ignore the shame. Some are so badly hurt by it that they lash out against it, denying the past and wishing it away. Wishful thinking never helped a soul.

 

"I speak to you today," he stabs, "not to form an army. I have no desire to place blame, nor cast stones. But we must look at ourselves, look at our past and present, and see who we truly are. We must root out the injustices of yesterday that still bind us today. We must look to tomorrow and never forget the mistakes of our past, not for the sake of blame but for the sake of growth. There are those who want no change, who fear shame, and slink away from growth. We can change their minds! And if we cannot, we can change the minds of everyone else! We can take back our country!"

 

The souls of the defeated cry out at the hope of victory. Throngs pack together, giving up all comfort, in the name of hope, in the name of tomorrow.

 

"We shall not raise an army. No, my friends, we have learned from the mistakes of our forefathers. Never again shall we shed the blood of our brothers and sisters. Never again shall we flush the lives of our sons and daughters down. Never again shall we spiral into the death of a thousand wars!"

 

Unseen but not too far away, another man grips a cold handrail. He listens and watches with his own ears and eyes, though closer and more intimate views are available to him. "Their numbers grow," says a voice o'er his shoulder.

 

"Yes," he acknowledges, barely a whisper.

 

"He will have a critical mass soon."

 

"Yes."

 

"If he doesn't already."

 

A breath out. "Yes."

 

Yes, indeed, the rebel and his followers would tear him down. Yes, they would drive him to the fields. Yes, he represented all that they spoke against.

 

Yes, they were a tangible threat.

 

Dropping his head for a moment, he prepares himself. He turns, lets go of the railing, and looks a commander in the face. "Are we ready?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

He nods. "Bring him to me. And show them that we shall not be overcome."

 

The rail is cold against the heat of his angry palms.

 

Evening

 

There are gunshots in the distance. He can smell fire.

 

"Sir, the prisoner has arrived."

 

He nods and lets go of the railing, turning to face the defeated.

 

There is anger in his eye. He stands straight, not proud, but straight.

 

"Hello." The prisoner makes no response; the angry eye does not waver.

 

"Did you really think you would succeed?"

 

Flames. In the distance, a sea of flames begins to crawl.

 

"Your idealism was foolish. I'm sure you knew that from the start. And look what you've done. You've infected thousands with it. You've exposed them to their inevitable fate."

 

There is no movement.

 

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

 

Stillness, the only movement is the rage in the eye.

 

"Speak, fool. You're a brilliant speaker. Don't let your legacy go down with silence."

 

Still silence.

 

"Say something!"

 

Not even a twitch.

 

"Say something! Speak! Claim victory with your words!"

 

Nothing.

 

"SPEAK!" he says, and with a backhand breaks the awful gaze. He wails and he slams his fists into his enemy's clenched jaw.

 

Silence again.

 

"Pathetic." He turns to see his city as dusk falls. "Put him in his cell." The rail remains cold.

 

"I would have done anything for you."

 

"Take him away!"

 

The night comes.

[Jidai Geki]

Very well written, and intriguing. You're a talented writer. I particularly liked this line:

 

A rebels stabs a nation through the heart with a microphone.

 

The setting is mysterious and draws you in- I find myself wanting to know about the nation, this rebel, and the guy who seems to be opposed to all this.

 

An excellent piece.

[Amidala Skywalker]

I agree with Geki. You've kept up your high quality of writing with this piece. I, too, am intruiged by the characters and want to know more about the setting and what's going on.

 

Your preface makes this even more interesting...

[ForceFusion]

Wow, thanks a lot guys. I'll be honest, this was just a metaphor for something I was/am going through, but I think I will try to develop it more.