She Was the Sun

Inescapable and glowing, she was the dawn. Her red hair was wild and alive. Her fatigues were immaculate and her pistol rode prominently high on her hip. All around the podium, roses fell among the garlands and the tattered remains of the flag of the oppressor. She spoke like the rifle cracked and with that undeniable presence she rallied her troops around her. Through war’s fog, she was our sun. I loved her, we all did.

I’ve always been of the understanding that a man was a creature made of lines. Mine mostly have to do with silly things. I won’t wear ties. I always have my coffee in the morning. I refuse to shave without warm water. However, one that’s not so silly is one of the oldest lines I’ve made. If you hurt one of mine, you are my enemy. It’s why I joined her army, it’s why I am who I am.

Somewhere deep in the town of Cumberland, there was talk of revolt against her. They amassed weapons, they horded food, and they even quietly went about making alliances. They worked in the dark against the general and the general in turned showed them the light. The town was set a blaze. My mother and sister are dead.

Two hours ago, right before the independence ceremony, I learn that I am alone in this world. I go through stages of grief quickly until I get to anger. Anger sticks in me. I composed myself around it, shaping a modest poker face. I didn’t need to hide all my anger, just enough so that I get through the parade without question.

An officer of the Army of the Mideast Republic of America carries a  pistol while wearing dress. Few would ever deem themselves worthy to check a man of my rank’s sidearm. I’m second to the general herself and third to God. The parade finally ended at the steps of the capital. She took the stage and I take my place to my left. I wait for a crescendo, a moment where she throws her hands in the air.

She screams “Long live” but I add my own punctuation, seven times through the center mass.

The crowd erupts in short lived bursts of panic. I am tackled before the eighth period can exit my gun. History will call me power hungry and while irrelevant, true enough. Really she just crossed a line and I had to kill here. The republic is soon rid of two bloody revolutionaries. Just as well, we are not very civilized things.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: