Adversity

[Khemia]

It was a standard mid-September day in Sinhai, the blazing orb of the sun etched into the sky, blazing down upon the streets below; the cool cement valleys and nearby ocean breezes offering some protection from the heat within the city. There were no clouds in the sky beckoning monsoon rains to spill forth as if to wash the sins away from the capital of the chaotic Union. Outside of the city a highway clawed towards the international airport like some grasping finger clawing across what flatlands there were. It seemed more akin to a barren wasteland dotted with the not unfamiliar signs of urbanization: a few scattered warehouses splattered about like an artist with too much paint on his brush.

A caravan of black, shiny vehicles with tinted windows raced across the highway, escorted by the start contrast of black and white, blue red and yellow lights flashing even in the day to tell those people that could afford a car and gas to get out of the way. The vehicles were not standard diplomatic cars, they were armoured SUV's built to withstand mines and IED's. There was no precaution that could be ignored. High above, a helicopter provided a means of aerial support.

Her sapphire eyes glanced across the landscape as the trees played past her eyes, and she envisioned for a moment once again the lands she had just travelled; their interesting pine trees and pine smell, their ugly brown mountains and all their uniqueness, the snow capped mountains and the drab, plainly interesting people. Some voices chattered about the cabin, debriefing her on her trip and the events that had transpired since. A new constitution was in the works for her country, it seemed; and the North was moving even more rapidly towards independence than ever before.

She withdrew her eyes from the window and stared for a moment at the seat in front of her. She let forth a sigh, weary and beleaguered. She finally felt tired of her work, this war left her feeling futile. She looked to her aides and conscripted a smile to dissuade their fears.

"This Constitution," she paused for a moment, "what do the people think of it?" Her question seemed a bit startling to the people sitting beside her; obviously no one had thought to ask the public their opinion. Hers was the only opinion that mattered.

The aides recovered from their surprise and looked over the paper. "Well, the Party is apprehensive about extreme changes, the communists are looking for more liberties in politics, and a constitu--"

"That's not what I meant," she lifted her hand and dismissed whatever comments were going to come next. "We cannot have a path to democracy if the people's opinion doesn't matter. Any Constitution drafted by the government needs to meet the people's approval."

Several aides in the cabin seemed notably relieved, whether they were happy because the President cared about their personal opinion, or whether they grew tired of mandatory citizen council meetings, was unclear. Others seemed apprehensive, concerned for the future of the Unity Party. Where many in the world looked at a single party state as a single party with a single, unifying platform, the Unity Party represented no such institution. It had no party line, no party platform. In fact, the single party was created to combat what had been viewed as the greatest enemy to pluralism: party politics.

She found herself wondering as well what the future of her country would be like, even as the aides wrote down notes about what she had just said. A spike of fear rose through her neck, and a black shape appeared in her periphery. A second turned into a minute, the minutes turned into aeons. The car jerked, her being pulled about. An aide without his seatbelt fastened lifted up from his chair, as if he were an astronaut in space. The black object slammed into the President's car, sending the aides body flying out the window, a burst of blood splattering the Presidents face. Airbags deployed, consuming the heads of those in front. A bodyguard instinctively threw himself atop the President even as the armoured vehicle began to roll onto its side. The beginning of gunfire could be heard outside, and the metallic clang of bullets bouncing off armor was heard. Then, the sickening punch of metal slugs breaking through bulletproof glass. The airbags in the front quickly turned from white to read, and her eyes struggled to find the assailant. More bullets penetrated the cabin, catching her in the leg. Then the gut. She felt the searing hot metal penetrate through her like a burning spear, a numbness coming over her as blood rushed out of her brain. Her eyes felt heavy, and she could see the bodyguard atop her. Blood gushed out of a gaping wound in his neck. Her head throbbed for a moment before her fingers let go of the grip she had on the mans suit.

The sound of gunfire outside was nothing more than a gentle hammer now. An exploding vehicle sent a shockwave out, the surge of air flowing past her numb face felt like a refreshing wave. She let the wave take her away, closing her eyes and hoping that whatever sleep awaited her presented a dream and not a nightmare.

 

[Khemia]

General Phiyada sat in the chair patiently outside, doctors busying themselves in the hallways stopping briefly to take a concerned look into the door beside him, then to him. He could tell they had questions that bore holes in their skulls in their struggle to be released, but he was not obliged to answer such things. Press conferences were for people that had things to say. He did not. He remembered the doctor's words last night, talk of miracles and of hope. In his gut he knew it was wrong to hope for things.

"She's sustained wounds to both her kidney and her femoral artery," the doctor had told him last night. "It will be a miracle if she makes it to tomorrow morning."

She'd made it to the morning, at least. 3:17 a.m. to be exact, before her life signs began to disappear. The doctors did what they could for her, but she had died for over two minutes. Now her dying body lay tormenting what brain functionality remained within her tortured head. He hoped that she could not feel the pain, and knew better than to imagine otherwise.

He wasn't quite sure why he sat there, a relatively crisp envelope in his hands. Only a partial fingerprint, coated in a meager amount of blood, told him who had given him the letter. Was it fear that prevented him from opening it? Was it pride in his country? Was it hope that his President's massive brain damage was reversible, and that she might be able to resume her office.

Perhaps it was a bit of everything. Another doctor walked past, his eyes peeking into the room. He, too, was concerned for the future of his country. How would Sinhai survive when the persona that had given it the dream of democracy lay in a bed with a crippled brain, and maybe hours left to live. He could hear the metronome, the sound of the President's heartbeat recorded coldly by the uncaring oscilloscope.

He reached for his waist, pulling out a combat knife he kept on his person more for showmanship than for practicality, and slipped the point into the letter. He cut the paper with a few short flicks of his wrist before setting the blade back in the ceremonial scabbard.

Within was a small letter, addressed to no one in particular. He wondered when the President had written it, she had not awoken from consciousness during the ambulance ride, nor had she been awake during any phase of her time here in the hospital. He slowly opened it, the first words cutting into his eyes.

"To whom it may concern... if you are reading this, then you must know that my life is spent..."

He opened the letter further and continued to read, realizing at this moment that the President had left him with the most powerful order the country had ever been given. Pursue democracy, whatever the cost. He folded the letter and rose from his seat in the hallway, walking to the door and peering through the small window there at the woman who's ideals had crafted a nation. He told himself to save this image and never forget it. This was the last time he would see this woman, and she was as brave as any soldier on the battlefield. He stored the memory in the safest part of his brain, in a place he could never forget, before tucking his chin down to his chest and watching the strange glimmer of light on his polished boots. He toyed with the letter for a few moments before spinning about on his boots, back to his post at SRUB.