shiver (FEATURED) | ✓

o35

vance

IT'S DONE. THE deed not even I could have expected from Evanna, though I did not know her all too well. The week has gone by both slowly and quickly: everything is a blur, and the people are becoming restful, anxious. It's becoming difficult to suppress their elevating fear.

A new president must be elected, before chaos reigns over Tetrahmon. I spend a lot of my time listening at work, more so than usual, staring out from the large window of the council room onto the square, watching our men as they try to scrub the blood of our former President from the podium. And now, as I stand behind it, the figure of Diana Malcolm burned onto the cold stone, in my mind, it's clean, fresh. The edges of the cuboid-like structure are as sharp as they were on the day they were first hewn out.

The sight before me is sombre. A ray of sunlight that probes between the clouds like a finger casts  a line of white light upon our onlookers. None of us stand behind glass, this time, and none of us are afraid. The culprit is behind bars, and that is all there is to know. The people of Tetrahmon are dressed, as usual, in the grey uniform of citizenship, and none wear smiles on their faces, as every gaze falls upon the black pod that lies upon a marble slab before us. It is shaped elliptically, with  a smooth, rounded metal surface, polished and dressed appropriately for the occasion. Through the strip of glass that was laid upon the front, our late President's corpse can be observed. I watched them as they prepared it, tucked the files of her work underneath its hands, clothed it in the proper attire.

I close my eyes to endure the moment of silence that is held throughout the square: even the drones that patrol the areas seem to have stilled. Jonathan's voice is a muffled speech of curt condolences, a memoir, a glorification of our president as he stands to pay his respects, as the representative of the Governmental Council of Tetrahmon.

The pod is released from its holding place on earth. It will, at some point, reach a terminal velocity, and combust in the earth's atmosphere. And as it propels itself upwards, Three million faces turn skywards in unison.

▿

"In light of this past week's events," Jonathan starts cordially into the microphone, one hand momentarily going up to brush down one of the lapels of his suit. I stand beside him on the podium, eclipsed by the long shadow the sun throws across me. He looks smart, clean, calm, and it's a face like his people seek at a time of tumultuous happenings, such as these. Every expression turned towards us is lined with desperation, in some cases more obvious than others, and I find my spirits sagging just slightly.

"...and Tetrahmon is still undergoing important developments. Project Chrysalis, as I am sure you are all aware, has been an incredible success, and was of greatest importance to our former President. As such-" He cuts himself off, clears his throat.

He's not going to do it, I think. He's never going to do it. The problem with wanting something too hard makes whatever it is unattainable.

"As such, it is only fitting to have someone take her place, someone who will follow her ideals, and someone who is willing to continue applying them to our lives to ensure a strong Tetrahmon in the future, and one as prosperous as it is today, if not better."

My saliva has coagulated in my mouth.

Sengdala steps forth and takes my father's place at the front line. "The High Council of Tetrahmon has decided and has, after much discussion and analysis, come to the valid and unanimous conclusion that Vice-President Jonathan Jakerrlos is to succeed former President Diana Malcolm as President of the New World, and of the great city and State of Tetrahmon."

The words echo in the silent square, magnified extraordinarily by the microphone at Sengdala's lips. A brief moment elapses, and the blur of dark blue that glides by me is quickly followed my my gaze, which focuses on the back of Jonathan's head.

Sengdala's last words finish their echoes with a deafening silence as they drop down to the ground like heavy weights. I can feel them dissipate at my feet, although their effect hangs like the silence that has passed the crowd.

I have difficulties with swallowing, and white spots scatter across my vision. The lone ray of sunlight now becomes blinding. And then, suddenly, as Jonathan pulls his shoulders back and stands a little straighter, with a confident but calm smile on his face, the crowd raises their hands up in fists and start the rhythmic chant of the low responding to Power.

Long live the State!

Long live Tetrahmon!

Long live President Jakerrlos!

The sound of my own name being yelled at me, coming from thousands of mouths, makes my insides recoil, and my face blanches. It makes me want to strip the name Jakerrlos from my body, from my being, like a dirty article of clothing, but I should know better. It is not my name which determines who I am, or to whom I belong, but my number. And all numbers belong to the State, to the city, to the President.

C1032.

I could have confided a secret to President Malcolm. But to this new President, I don't think things will be as simple as they were. Not now. Not ever.

▿

The deafening ring of a unified people haunts me that night. Whenever I close my eyes, I dream of a sky streaked with lacerations of saturated colour. When I close my eyes, I dream of things that move from the utopia Tetrahmon has become. When I dream, I dream against the State, and that is enough to make anyone fear themselves.

The eiderdown is soft, but I can't sleep. Perhaps the utopia will be overrun by a tyranny different than any it has endured. The shock of something I knew would come eventually, no matter Evanna interference, has struck me harder than I expected. It is something inevitable, and yet it comes too soon.

I have one choice, and it's a choice between the Red Hand or my father. It sounds simple, yes, but leaving would force me away from everything I know and care for, but staying would keep me away from everything I believe in.

But in a world like Tetrahmon, believing is unheard of. In a world like Tetrahmon, a fact is a fact, and a fact is the truth, and if the President says the sun rises in the west, then the sun rises in the west.