city hall
a revolution in seattle, washington|
GUIDE TO GETTING STARTED ON RC
BASIC INFORMATION
THE REVOLUTION
STORY THUS FAR
SUB-PLOTS
MIND'S EYE
CREATION'S DAWN
THE KING'S SOCIETY
THE REQUITED
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Weeks ago in Occidental Park, hundreds of people gathered for a political rally. There was a man shouting above all the others: Do we have freedom? Do we have equality? This country's changing! It is no longer for all of the people – it is for some of the people! premiseTo slay a nameless man is to pick a dandelion from a field of weeds. He wakes alone in the morning, steps through an empty life with the rehearsed steps of a droid with no thoughts, collapses inside his door come night, and doesn't struggle at the barrel pressed to his skull. A pity-filled glance at the obituary, a groan at the solemn nature of of the world – these are the flowers of his naked funeral, and the world won't so much as hold its breath for one second to acknowledge his passing. Attach a name, however, a job, some fame, the money, and before you know it, your television's exploded with the death of a single man. Dearly missed, they'll say, a loss we'll feel for years. Oh, how they'll mourn. And let them. They don't know how he earned that name, how he was hired, even considered for that job. The fame, the money; they'll never know what heinous lengths he went to get all that made him more noted in death than he ever was in life.But you do. I do. You and I – we're different from the rest. The world peeks out their window, glances at the news, and while their heart breaks at the cruelty of it all, the one even the most optimistic cannot deny, they point their fingers in all the wrong places. Oh, yes, the criminals may bring their fair share of misery, and the threats of radicals from foreign lands strikes much too dissonant a chord. The hunger, the anger, the death – and where does it all come from? But that's not the right question to be asking, you and I know, because the sources are too far, too dangerous, impossible for the common folk to even think of touching. The question we should ask, the one that only people like you and I ever stop to ask is: Whatever happened to the ones meant to protect us from these things? Doing their best, one may feebly try to answer? No! Sitting back on idle feet? No! If agony is the fire, the ones we entrust with our safety are the split gasoline, sucking us dry of our funds and our hope and regurgitating it out to the one percent that rules us all. You know it. I know it. And that is precisely why we are the only ones that can stop it. The world will hate us, spit on a name that defines us alone when they cannot find the faces and the ambitions behind it. We will rid them of their lying politicians and their greedy priests, remove corruption from their enforcement and tip their government on their head with a gun in our hand and a plan in our mind. But for as much as they will hate us, in time, all of that enmity will fade to gratitude. They think of us as murderers, but no sane man or woman scorned the knights who slayed the dragon, and time is what they need to know us for the heroes that we are. Time – time and the new, brighter, more free America that we will make. There's a growing feeling that taking a chance on a new kind of vision is due; all you have to do is open your ears to the revolution calling. settingSeattle streets in 2018, a mirror of a world you know with colors tinted darker, reflections spat out in reverse, imperfect, names you don't remember and events that never happened. Somewhere in the streets, a revolution bubbles and spits, growing larger by the day, consuming more and more of the impoverished and displeased with its promise of upheaval and equality. But what good deed carried out by blood is truly good? What of the law – perhaps twisted and biased in and of itself – or the innocent lives that get caught in the fray? Something wicked is stirring just out of reach: will you resist, or will you let it swallow you whole? |
