Shattering, Page 2

his face as he approached. The three treads prior to the platform felt like a steep rise. When he put a foot on the stage, the audience exploded in glee, exhibiting a marvelous enthusiasm. But in his heart, joy was way beyond.

  Pet shyly raised his hand and greeted slightly. A merry sympathizer in the first row fisted up into the air. Others joined him. And the usual helpers around the stage also cheered up the reluctant ones, keeping up the mood high.

  At the VIP zone Pete’s wife Claudia shimmered like always. She had been with him from the beginning, following him, never doubting about his actions. His children were next to her, very quietly in their seats, oblivious at the meaning of the show.

  The pride in her eyes was enormous. Her face exuded admiration towards his husband for having reached the brink of the cliff, and expectation to hear what her lovely companion was about to utter.

  The speech was in front of him. The words printed in ivory paper with the party red symbol at the top were carefully prepared by foreign assistance that not only offered their services in addressing the best approach for campaigns but also in choosing the most alluring keywords. Needless to say that the content was arranged in accordance with the point of view that railed government’s trend.

  His mouth was dry, and his vocal cords were bridge cables, tense like steel. Even his pupils dilated whilst his short breath brewed to worsen. He panned the whole auditorium. “Mr. President.” So tough but so liberating his first words were.

  The president shaped his composure; stuck his chest out. A gold crisscross tie bar sheened. He waved his hand, reveling diamond cuff links – a luxury gift given to himself from one of his several visits to the Middle East. But his grin was even more remarkable than his wealthy accessories. It served a purpose to identify, off the record, to the less fortunate.

  Clearing his throat, Pete proceeded, “Vice-president, chancellor, and party members…”

  The crow stirred in fire.

  “We’re here…” He dithered. Everyone muted. He stared at his lovely Claudia. Then closing his eyes for only milliseconds he felt as if oceans of time passed by, and all of his memories as a reputable party member projected in a reel.

  He started off again, grabbing the speech, crushed it behind the podium. “Truly, we’re not supposed to be here as party members, but as thinkers. And more important, as virtuous men. As such, I must commit myself to my heart and judgment. And they say,” He winked over and over, “We’re doing much.”

  Expectancy increasingly grew.

  “But what good are we doing?” His shouted out, “If we are just pawns that are moved to favor opportunists’ whims. That’s what we are.”

  Silence got a hold on the audience.

  Pete breathed in and out deeply, “And we, the ones in power, have become parasites, sheltering in the gist of the dupes.”

  Guards hurried to the stage after receiving a sign from the vice-president. Some sympathizers began boing.

  “And there!” Pete pointed at the mad ruler and his shepherds, “The monsters that treacherously created the lies upon which they have stood, harnessing our hope to consume themselves in our decadent lives.” Blood madly through his veins, “Right there, in their vicious circle, they control our way of living, telling what to believe and where to go, undermining our liberty to succeed.”

  A stooge grabbed him, and tried to pull him off. But Pete took his arm; and jerked it hard, throwing him out of the stage.

  He gripped the mic. “They arrived as conqueror of poverty, making us believe they brought equality. But they’ve always being the rats that infest everything they laid their hands on.”

  Security hurriedly glided through the aisles. Pete fingered them, “Be aware those of you, cause I was that naïve.” He glanced at the irate audience, “Sunk in the ignorance.”

  The guards finally seized him. Fervently, he fought back, but it was useless. He uttered more but the speaker had been already disconnected.

  The bouncers carried him through a tunnel. At the end of it, a van with the party logo painted on a door was waiting. He was thrown into the back. Two guards occupied the front seats before they off out. Somewhat stunned by the throw, he stayed down on the floor. His mind reflexed the previous minutes. And regrets came up. Only some shred of them sprinkled for not proceeding earlier.

  The truck made a tough turn, and his back screamed in pain when he was tossed against one of the walls. The fall got his hand stuck between the back seat and a siphon, which made his wrist twist. His head also suffered a big concussion. Bleeding came out from one of his eyebrows as well as his nostrils.

  He tried to sit down, but was unable to do it. The truck jolted a lot on which he assumed they were along a stony road. But it didn’t last long. So he thought that the trip was getting into an end, and couldn’t be more right. The truck stopped. His ears were on stand by, not because he cared about his destiny but rather because he was eager to face the minions that were sent to deal with him.

  The hatch released the lock, and the sunset light raided the van. A figure that he was incapable of identifying forthwith, detailed in front of him. But when his vision focused, an acquaintance was there to check on.

  Pete crawled out; sat on the rear bumper. His legs were too weak to support his own body.

  “Did they send you or you just volunteered?” Pete grinned ironically.

  “I talked sense into them not to throw you in a cage.” Donald attested.

  Pete sighed indifferently.

  “Why did you do that?” Smoke came out of his nostrils and mouth, forming a cloud above his head, “Why did you send it all to hell?”

  “I couldn’t go on with same lies.” Pete’s breath faded away like thread that moldered beyond lifespan. “They were gnawing me.”

  “You should’ve endured them as I have.” Donald sat next to him, “As we all have.” His hands rested on his knees. “This hasn’t been easy for me either. But as a father, I have obligations. And those people, like it or not, give me what I need.”

  “Even if that means to turn over your own will.”

  “Yes, that’s it. You should’ve known it in the first moment they altered the law, and changed everything.”

  Pete stared at him. Coldness distilled from his eyes.

  “Come one!” Donald’s hand whipped in the air, “Admit it. Don’t tell me you believed in all that rubbish they prayed for. You’ve never been that naïve.”

  With a lot of effort, Pete tried to stand up, but he couldn’t. Donald pulled him up, and carried him toward a nearby rock. It hurt to his bones when he sat on the jagged surface.

  Donald took out a handkerchief, “Help yourself!”

  “That’s all you can offer, uh!”

  “You cannot break the system because it’s already broken, and you know it.” Donald sighed frustratingly, noticing no understandable reaction. “Pete, listen to me. As unbelievable as it seems, people have accepted it. So embraced it… Alas, because no matter the suffering they go through daily, they won’t change.”

  Donald knelt, keeping eye contact at all times, “They like this,” He bowed his head, “State of motion.”

  A tear ran down on one Pete’s cheeks.

  “Progress requires people with vision, and most importantly with desire to evolve. This society don’t go after it.” Donald tossed away the worn-out cigarette butt, his gaze was unswerving. “Now promise me you won’t do anything foolish.”

  Leaving his best friend behind, Pete slouched along a stony path. All the angst weighed on his back juxtaposed people`s indolent view about judging reality unwittingly. He probed his surrounding, and found it familiar. Then he remembered it as one of the many counties he had visited while assisting the campaign representatives.

  He got to a bleak bust stop, which was terribly damaged. Due to the semblance, it had obviously been the target of regular vandalism. He shook off some dirt out of his trousers only to realize how useless it was. The street was flooded by vast dirt – sand provided by
the current government to expand the slums in exchange for submission.

  After a long and uncomfortable travel the bus pulled over. The remaining passengers got off, but he remained there looking out the window. The wild abundant shrubs didn’t hide either domestic waste or burnt furnishings.

  “Last stop,” Hailed the driver, impeding clustered regrets to sprinkle up. He walked through a shattered pavement road. Not a great distance he had gone until the first neighborhood gloomed. He hurried – qua a microprocessor for criminality awareness embedded in his mind – to reach the first line of houses.

  The surroundings were dreadful. The dusty and deteriorated terrain burdened the sentiments, typical infrastructure spotted in every region across the country. As usual, some people gathered on the corners, sidewalks, and around liquor stores.

  Despite the night-time, kids still hanged out on the streets. Pete stared at a little girl, who was running toward a house, carrying a big poster. An old woman – presumably her mother – met her at the porch. She gave a tube of glue to the child who with all the illusion raised up her bare and dirty feet to paste the propaganda on the façade’s house.

  Her tiny eyes gleamed. They were sparks in a gloomy night. The innocence coming displayed in her grin stirred him.

  “They won’t change. No matter the downfall they live in. They blindly go downhill, cramming their allusions.” He fleshed out.

  He leaned his back on an out-of-order booth. And like water breaking