Waiting for Revolution

Dusk fell over the slums of Dachall. Nothing moved but the wind, quietly beating on the wooden windows and stone walls. For the first time in months it seemed drained of all its energy and chaos creating an unnatural stillness. Dante stared out from his balcony contemplating what was about to come; what he alone had created. This would be the greatest revolution Lochland had ever seen. No one expected it. No one believed it was even possible. The Emperor sat behind his walls drunk on the illusion of power, naive enough to believe that his castle was impermeable. In the last few months Dante had finally shown his country the truth. People only have power over you when you give it to them. Too long had these people given. It was time to take it back. Take back their money. Take back their food. Take back their pride.

Dante enjoyed the silence as he smoked his cigarette and felt the buzz course through his skull. He was trying to remember the lyrics of a song he heard several years ago sitting in the back of his fathers little restaurant. He started to mumble "Someone told me long ago. There's a calm before a storm. I know its been ... something for sometime." He smiled as he let the memory fill his senses and empower him. Today he would do his father proud. He blew three perfect rings of smoke and watched them spread through the air widening and thinning out till they disappeared. Soon the battle would begin and history would be written. But right now he was content to dream about it as he enjoyed the view.

Slowly, the city started to change. One lone boy, possibly thirteen years old came out into the street. His shirt was in tatters and he held a gun in his hand that looked far too heavy for him to carry. He said nothing and did nothing. He just stood tall and waited patiently. Then a couple of lumberjacks came out holding axes and hammers, and an old woman with a dangerous looking cane. More and more people began filling up the alleys till the roads were hardly visible as far as the eye could see. Roof tops and heads until the horizon.

They were waiting for him. He knew that. Like sheep wait for a Shepard. Something about them began playing on his mind. There were no shouts of enthusiasm, no banging of weaponry, no cheers anticipating their victory. Just obedient silence as they waited for their leader. Were they fighting for freedom, or for him? The idea started as a vague inclination and then suddenly spread like a disease through his brain. They were soldiers waiting for orders from their superior. The thought overwhelmed Dante terrifying him beyond words. He stood up slightly panicked and slightly frustrated. His entire life had been in pursuit of this one moment. But Dante wanted to lead fellow citizens to a revolution, not soldiers to battle.

He turned around and almost ran into his apartment like he was afraid he might be seen. His brow was drenched in a cold sweat. His hands became clammy and itchy. He picked up a knife from his table and gazed at his reflection in the side for a second, almost as if he expected to see the answer to his dilemma in his reflection. The damn blade was useless. It told him nothing. He slammed it into the table in rage. He didn't know what was right anymore. He began praying to God for help but gave up in a matter of minutes. What help had God ever been? Rather than bother with religion he decided to consult the next best thing; Alcoholic epiphany.

He poured virtually every drop of Vodka he had left into one large beer mug. This wasn't all that much because the last few weeks had required far more booze than he was used to keeping. He tried to chug it and felt a burning sensation in his throat. He put it down irritated and started sipping it slowly. It soothed him and allowed him to think.

He imagined what would happen if he carried on with the plan; if he went outside and lead the people forward. They would all do as he commanded and march on the castle. Many would die fighting not for freedom but for Dante. This was a thought he could not bear. Nobody deserved to die for him. And then what? When the battle was over and the Emperor was executed what would become of the city? Dante was faced with his greatest fear. He would be the one to replace the Emperor. It was stupid to believe that there was any other possible outcome.

When all was said and done, Dante would become everything he was fighting to get rid of. He was fighting for freedom, not power. With him on the throne his laws and beliefs would prevail throughout the nation and there would be people just like him who refused to live by them. Maybe those people would lead more revolutions and more after that throwing the country into an unceasing circle of death and regicide. The Emperor was everything he despised and everything he was about to become.

He looked down at his now half empty glass, and shrugged. He didn't want this to happen. But what could he do to change it? The entire city had gathered outside his door waiting for the next phase in history. He went back towards the balcony and peered out through the window. They waited obediently. Robots about to execute the will of an evil mastermind. That was not what he wanted to be, but what choice did he have?

It was no longer up to him. He too was just a robot fuelled by his destiny. He had a part to play just as they did. If he didn't go out to meet them the city would fall back into the hands of the Emperor and his reign would go on even longer. The thought of that was just as unbearable. Everything he fought for, all his planning and effort would be in vain. The people would continue to suffer in poverty stricken subjugation. Would they ever have it in them to fight for themselves?

His thought was interrupted by a loud chime from the clock tower. That was his cue. The revolution was his stage and it was time to be a player. He stepped out onto the balcony in plain sight and the crowd began chanting his name. "Dante, Dante. Viv La Revolution." Their cheers echoed through every corner of the thin streets and shit-stained houses as they watched their hero emerge. He raised his pistol to the crowd saluting them proudly. He had made his decision. He shouted, "Long live the revolution." Then there was a ear splitting bang. The people watched in horror as their leader shot himself in the head. It tore into a mess of parts that hung in the air for a second and then splattered across the wall and the floor. Blood spilled out of his neck like a broken sprinkler, wetting everything within range. His body stood there listlessly, like it wasn't sure what just happened and then crashed to the floor with a thump. The first bullet of the night had been fired. Would it be the last? It was finally up to the people.

Dante found the only way out of destiny and chose to take it. He gave the people what they needed. A battle without a leader. This meant that every man who stepped up to fight really believed in what they were fighting for and every man who went home never should have left their houses in the first place. Maybe the fight would come today, maybe tomorrow, maybe never. But it would happen the right way. That was what Dante died fighting for.