A Difference of Perspective

The last strains of music faded with the sun and the people began to part ways, heading to their own homes. Their own fantastic lives. The streets were left littered with festive fallen streamers and confetti snow, a mess now but soon to be cleaned up. The streets mustn’t be left littered too long. It would take away from the beauty of the glittering city. That simply would not due. No litter. No pollution. No crime. That’s the way the city was and that was the way it would remain. Perfect in every little aspect.

 

 The celebration had been grand. A wonderful thing filled with dancing and gaiety. Couples pairing off and exchanging tender kisses under streetlamps that were to soon turn on. Children running amongst the crowd, being swept onto strong backs and given rides that made them giggle with glee.  It could only be wonderful and amazing. They had come home! Those brave, brave men who had been fighting in a foreign land to protect the most important ideas of freedom. It had been a short war just like everyone had believed. It hadn’t even taken a year to defeat the enemy and establish peace in the once hostile land. It was easy. Good always triumphed over evil. They were good. The others were evil. It was common sense that they would win, the others lose. The war was over and now things were all sunny and beautiful. There was no more danger posed. They could live without fear.

 

He was one of them. One of those brave, brave men. The first thing he had done when landing back home was to take his younger wife and daughter in his strong arms and lay a kiss upon their creamy cheeks. The little girl, she had grown up so much in the short amount of time he was gone, had just giggled sweetly and looked up from underneath her golden lashes at him. Though at an age where out of sight, out of mind was the norm, she hadn’t forgotten her father. In fact she informed him of how happy she was that he was back in that little lisping voice of hers and then showed off her new pink dress, bought especially for the day. Throughout this all his wife stood there smiling with pride as she looked over the two most important things in her life. Now that he was back she’d be able to leave that horrid job. With the men gone, many of the women had had to take positions they would never have even considered before. But now they could go back to the way things way were before. He would go back to his job and she would go back to doing what she loved the best. Cooking, cleaning, and caring for the child. What woman wouldn’t want to be able to do that? She should really be grateful to have such a good husband. He supported her. Provided for her. Made sure she never had to work too hard. Cleaning the large house and cooking all the meals was so easy he was envious. Oh if only he could lay about the house idle all day. And taking care of the child? Well, the child was a polite and well behaved little thing. Couldn’t be any trouble at all.

 

It was just so good to be home. And he could barely contain himself. His wife left to put the child to bed when the celebration ended and he went back to his brothers-in-arms to start another little party before heading home to his perfect house, perfect wife, and perfect child. Perfect life.

 

The sound of the music was grating. Annoying, repetitious drivel. Cheap paper fell from the top floors of the dingy buildings and mingled with the trash already on the streets. The sidewalks and street were practically cushioned by the amount of trash. Layer after layer of refuse. People’s lives tossed carelessly away to be trampled on. Babies cried and screamed. The other children? Scruffy little things, more like animal than humans, they roamed the streets, tiny hands occasionally slipping into pockets and grabbing out valuables.

 

She had been dreading this day. After three years, they were finally home. The soldiers had come back from fighting that un-winnable war. Losers. Miserable wretches. Had good triumphed over evil? Most likely. The war was false. Everyone knew that. Someone in a powerful position had been reading Machiavelli. Taking a leaf out of Bismarck’s book. When things weren’t looking good on the home front, distract the masses with a war. It worked. If the war was actually won. It hadn’t been though.

 

Couples paired up and fucked against the lamppost. No tenderness. No love. Just violent sex. After all the men had been away for a long time. Locked in battle with only other men. They had to prove their manhood. They were tough. They were men. Men. Dancing was impossible with the music that was playing. Grinding however was very possible and the sweaty bodies, the ones not against the lampposts and buildings, pressed together and called it a dance. Older men, leering things, stared at the children. Quickly she pulled her little girl away from one of these; she was tempted to let him have the brat.

 

It all sickened her and then there he was.  He rushed over as if expecting a warm greeting. Arms wrapped around her and the little girl, the little girl struggling to escape from the strange man. He tried to get the golden child to talk, the smell of beer and lust clinging to him as he eyed the cheap pink dress she was wearing. She left as soon as possible with her daughter. Back towards the run down home that would once again become her prison. He never let her work when he was home. She was supposed to take care of three things. House, food, and the little b***h. Maybe if she got lucky he would get hurt, shot in some random drunken act of violence. One could only hope.

 

Oh how she wished he had died over there. She had prayed and prayed for a letter informing her of his death. But it never came. She stopped by the liquor before heading home to her miserable house, miserable wife, and Miserable child. Miserable life.

 

Reviews

[R J Askew]

This short piece goes to the heart of all we are. On the one hand we are pricipled optimists, good democrats with ideals. On the other, deluded meddlers who screw everything up. And of course we are right, God is on our side and the other guy... well... Surely they can see we are right? And if they can't they must be made to see that we are right. Tell me Mr.Secretary of Defence, how many days will the war take? After all we have the power. I imagine the Germans thought they were in the right when they invaded Russia in 1941, fighting communism, imposing their view of things on idiots and lesser beings. So the title of your piece is fascinating in the way it shows how there is always a different view of things and how it is dangerous to assume we must always be right. And surely to question things is intelligent and the basis of a healthy democracy. Not to question is a sign of weakness which leads to paranoia and a brittle sense of power riven with fear. I like the way you set idealised dreams against a different reality. The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle. But both extremes probably have to be examined to get to it as far as we can. Morality is the most important weapon there is. To fight any war without morality does not seem a good idea. Your piece makes the point very effectively.