- 8
- Posts
- 10
- Years
- Seen Apr 14, 2016
Chapter 1 - The Desk and the Window
"So, what do you think?"
"I think it's the most ridiculous and impossible plan I've ever heard."
"Oh come on. We both know what the people have been saying. It's about time for a change. The need far outweighs whatever actions we must take."
The dark haired, fairer skinned man rubbed his face with his right hand, leaving his left free to rest on the desk in front of him, anxiously fidgeting over sections of official documents. He finally replied, "Yes maybe, but we cannot do it all at once, and certainly not like this. There is still far too great a number of those who would sympathize with the Provos and their cause."
The other, darker skinned, dusty haired man interjected, "Of course it won't. I'm not saying all this will occur overnight. It will take years, maybe more than we wish to count, but it will happen if we push it far enough." He pointed a finger at the lighter skin man. "And don't call them that. It only encourages them. They are Provocateurs. They disturb and cause mayhem and instigate uncivilized behavior."
The black haired man rolled his eyes and retorted, "As you wish, but we cannot be forceful about this kind of thing. Before the people will agree, they will want to understand. They will need to trust us."
"Then we must make them understand!" The darker skin man struck the side of his hand to the desk, hunched over and spoke with greater conviction. "Show them what the truth is. Make the Revisionist cause personal. Level with our people, and they will level with us. They will, trust us."
A furrowed brow and crossed arms displayed themselves on the fair skinned man. He lifted one hand to his well groomed and pointed goatee, and stroked it while remaining in deep, thoughtful silence.
"Listen," sighed the dust color haired man, "even if it takes twenty years, would it not be for the good of the nation? In the end, would the benefits not infinitely supersede any means, or course of action we choose to take?"
Still stroking his beard, the black haired man turned his eyes to his insistent consort and saw the devotion in his eyes that matched his words.
"If we... Do this... There is no reversing it. What we do will be done." He now turned to face his companion directly. "We will be starting a revolution, possibly even a war."
"I know," still hunched over the desk, dark skin smiled unconvincingly and concluded, "but it will be for the good of the nation."
Light skin looked away at an abstract piece of crinkled paper wedged in one of the wooden desk drawers and spoke lower and with a much more solemn tone. "Yeah... But what will the costs amount to?"
Dusty hair stood up straight and placed his hands regally behind his back, pacing over to the only window in the dim room. He stared through the thin shades barring most of the piercing sunlight from entering in and locked his eyes onto the square filled with people below at the base of the building.
People were walking with one another, parents with children, lover with lover, merchants selling wares, and even a city officer stopped to accept the meager gift of a flower from a small girl. The officer he imagined saying thank you as he ruffled her hair and she giggled, skipping away back to her mother. His eyes crossed the large statue of a man forged in bronze and lingered his sight there momentarily. He smiled briefly then cut his eyes to another corner of the square. His smile faded instantly as he spotted a younger looking man, perhaps a teenager, standing off alone near the small runoff from the waterway that fed the fountain that danced next to the statue. The man he could see making slight, almost invisible motions with his hands and arms as he hovered close to the water. He narrowed his eyes to focus on the tiny stream and stared, piercingly and patiently. There, in the flow, he saw it. A sliver of liquid creeped it's way upward as if willing itself to climb. Like a serpent it moved back and forth and in circles, all the while the young man maintained his steady routine of motions.
A few moments later, two other city officers marched toward the young man and proceeded to knock him to the ground and beat him just senseless enough to make it easier to carry his incapacitated body away. With that, the water fell with a splash back into the stream and continued it's dull, monotonous ebbing into the runoff and disappeared as did the man with the guards. The smile the dark man at the window once wore had long vanished and he gazed now, slightly frowning, wearing an expression somewhere between pride and resolve.
Arms still held behind his back with his sight still fixated through the blinds at the city square, he finally spoke quietly and a bit grimly in response to his counterpart. "It doesn't matter the cost, as long as we are willing to pay the price."
"So, what do you think?"
"I think it's the most ridiculous and impossible plan I've ever heard."
"Oh come on. We both know what the people have been saying. It's about time for a change. The need far outweighs whatever actions we must take."
The dark haired, fairer skinned man rubbed his face with his right hand, leaving his left free to rest on the desk in front of him, anxiously fidgeting over sections of official documents. He finally replied, "Yes maybe, but we cannot do it all at once, and certainly not like this. There is still far too great a number of those who would sympathize with the Provos and their cause."
The other, darker skinned, dusty haired man interjected, "Of course it won't. I'm not saying all this will occur overnight. It will take years, maybe more than we wish to count, but it will happen if we push it far enough." He pointed a finger at the lighter skin man. "And don't call them that. It only encourages them. They are Provocateurs. They disturb and cause mayhem and instigate uncivilized behavior."
The black haired man rolled his eyes and retorted, "As you wish, but we cannot be forceful about this kind of thing. Before the people will agree, they will want to understand. They will need to trust us."
"Then we must make them understand!" The darker skin man struck the side of his hand to the desk, hunched over and spoke with greater conviction. "Show them what the truth is. Make the Revisionist cause personal. Level with our people, and they will level with us. They will, trust us."
A furrowed brow and crossed arms displayed themselves on the fair skinned man. He lifted one hand to his well groomed and pointed goatee, and stroked it while remaining in deep, thoughtful silence.
"Listen," sighed the dust color haired man, "even if it takes twenty years, would it not be for the good of the nation? In the end, would the benefits not infinitely supersede any means, or course of action we choose to take?"
Still stroking his beard, the black haired man turned his eyes to his insistent consort and saw the devotion in his eyes that matched his words.
"If we... Do this... There is no reversing it. What we do will be done." He now turned to face his companion directly. "We will be starting a revolution, possibly even a war."
"I know," still hunched over the desk, dark skin smiled unconvincingly and concluded, "but it will be for the good of the nation."
Light skin looked away at an abstract piece of crinkled paper wedged in one of the wooden desk drawers and spoke lower and with a much more solemn tone. "Yeah... But what will the costs amount to?"
Dusty hair stood up straight and placed his hands regally behind his back, pacing over to the only window in the dim room. He stared through the thin shades barring most of the piercing sunlight from entering in and locked his eyes onto the square filled with people below at the base of the building.
People were walking with one another, parents with children, lover with lover, merchants selling wares, and even a city officer stopped to accept the meager gift of a flower from a small girl. The officer he imagined saying thank you as he ruffled her hair and she giggled, skipping away back to her mother. His eyes crossed the large statue of a man forged in bronze and lingered his sight there momentarily. He smiled briefly then cut his eyes to another corner of the square. His smile faded instantly as he spotted a younger looking man, perhaps a teenager, standing off alone near the small runoff from the waterway that fed the fountain that danced next to the statue. The man he could see making slight, almost invisible motions with his hands and arms as he hovered close to the water. He narrowed his eyes to focus on the tiny stream and stared, piercingly and patiently. There, in the flow, he saw it. A sliver of liquid creeped it's way upward as if willing itself to climb. Like a serpent it moved back and forth and in circles, all the while the young man maintained his steady routine of motions.
A few moments later, two other city officers marched toward the young man and proceeded to knock him to the ground and beat him just senseless enough to make it easier to carry his incapacitated body away. With that, the water fell with a splash back into the stream and continued it's dull, monotonous ebbing into the runoff and disappeared as did the man with the guards. The smile the dark man at the window once wore had long vanished and he gazed now, slightly frowning, wearing an expression somewhere between pride and resolve.
Arms still held behind his back with his sight still fixated through the blinds at the city square, he finally spoke quietly and a bit grimly in response to his counterpart. "It doesn't matter the cost, as long as we are willing to pay the price."