Elena: The Second Annuls of History

After a gruesome warm a strongman rises to rebuild his nation geared for war.

 If you have clicked on this, please listen to the YouTube video I have provided below and then read this short story. That way, the song and the story can correlate into the vision I'm trying to provide. Thank You* 

 

 

<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K-1vHQxWleE">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K-1vHQxWleE</a>

 

 

 

A State, In shambles

A people, in ruins

A dynasty, babbles.

A nation divided

A revolution ignited.

 

This morning started out unlike any other morning. The revolutionaries fought a bloody battle to take control of the royal tower. From out of the royal palace, the last linage of the Sud dynasty plummeted to their deaths. They were pushed out of the top floor, and the glass windows that over looked the city of Sudonia, shattered as the two corpse embroidered in silk and gold, flew through them.

 

For years its neighbors of Banerjeeonia and Creedonia had given aid to this nation's people. The country's sources of wealth were unevenly marginalized between rich and poor. The people starved while its rulers were locked away in a palace of wealth.

 

With their fears being tapped into by the revolutionary faction, it was only a matter of time before its people rose up and overthrew this dynasty of white and gold. New ideas had taken hold in the kingdom like an unforgiving weed, until its roots were so deep, that only a reconstruction of the political climate was the only solution.

 

*

The sun rose between the two ancient stone sphinxes of the ruling twins; Its swirling mass lightly levitating up from the empty space between them. Behind these ancient statues, another stone moment is being erected; a marble statue so finally detailed of a man dressed in a officer’s military uniform. His cap shedding his compassionate eyes, his heavy coat enclosing his broad shouldered figure, his finger pointing out into the blood red sky. Pointing away into the future.

 

Huge steel tanks role down the capitol parade grounds. They grind the tiny rocks on the road that lead into the fourm, and in front of the executive mansion. Then with a swift pivot, every tank sharply points their cannons towards  balcony of the mansion; saluting their new leader, and exposing the deep back holes within their cannons. All around the road leading into the forum grounds, bleachers are set up with crowds of people drunk with madness. 

 

The leader steps out into the balcony of the executive mansion. The afternoon sun illuminates him from the shadows. His military cap: black and red, with a gold eagle in the center. His officer’s coat decorated with jagged patterns of red and black enclosing each other consecutively.  He firmly salutes his new kingdom with a stiff arm salute, and than retracts it back to his breast that encloses his heart.

 

The crowed grows madder. From the bleachers, farmers shout his name in praise. Young maidens hold their toddlers in their arms and point their babies in the direction of the father of their country. Old women, heads neatly tucked under scarves, and knees crippled with arthritis, blow kisses to him through toothless mouths.

 

Then the soldiers appear and follow the tanks onto the parade grounds. Every man dressed in black-clad tactical uniforms, holding rifles firmly as they march into the square. All their faces are covered in gas masks, and the only color that can be seen on these goulash figures are the toxic-green lenses that protect their eyes. The soldiers in the middle of the crowed carry banners with golden eagles clasping firmly within their talons, the nation’s new flag: a tomato-red cloth with golden letters in the center, and gold embroidery at its edges.

 

The soldiers stop in the center of the capitol square and bring their rifles at bay. They turn their head swiftly in the direction of their new leader and look out into oblivion, as if ready to obey an order at the slightest command. Women shoot up from the bleachers and begin sprinkling this mass of blackness with yellow and pink flowers. Droplets of harmony fall upon their voidless black uniforms yet the soldiers stay firm in their baring.  

 

Roles of red and gold banners slither down on either side of the executive palace. The new government has come, and a new dawn has awakened. The new Rome is here.

 

***

 

 In the roundabout enclosed by all the administrative buildings, a new statue sits unfinished. A statue dedicated to a colossus. A colossus pointing his people towards the future. The sun is setting and the sky is turning feverishly blood red. The crane lifts the gigantic arm in place. Other cranes work tirelessly behind it, rebuilding the city anew. Their many arms, only black silhouettes before the melding sky of red, orange, and yellow water colors. Simultaneously, wells all around dried-out farmland, spout water from beneath the earths bosom. The people rejoice as they dance under the showers of relief.

 

The elevators lift with crowds of men wearing white hard hats. The gates open to a factory that has been closed for ages. Parts of different machinery begin flowing down the assembly line and the men toil in sweat and oil to recover them. Yet their hearts fill with a sense of purpose as they finally are at work, feeding their wives and children instead of sitting idly at home and tormenting them. A crane lifts here and a wrench turns their. A widget clicks here and a spark pops there. The garage doors open and the steel beast crawls out with a roaring engine and its stiff trunk raised. It grinds the rocky pavement below with its many wheeled feet. 

 

However, across the borders, the nations of Banerjeeonia and Creedonia bite their nails at the site of this uncertain government. They know of the reports of this regime’s violent past. It’s ruthless purges to silence all opposition. At the United Nations meeting, all seats are occupied except one. The seat that was once two, but then was combined into a single entity. All are distracted by its cold emptiness amongst the delegation talks.

 

Meanwhile, out in the deserts sands, the new dictator along with his top officials, places a pair of sunglasses on his face. They then take their seats on chairs; the only objects man-made amongst miles and miles of nothingness. The dictator and his top officials wait patiently for the show to begin. A show that was once thought could only be achieved by God

 

An explosion erupts on the desert sands and a mighty mushroom cloud spouts into the sky. Its stock and top erupt with orange flashes of flame, and its beastly grey muscles flex into the wind.  The new dictator’s face registers an expression of firm superiority as the reflection mirrors off his glasses.

 

The crunched numbers of the rictorscale disturbances are relayed back in enclosed, beige, reports to Creedonia and Banerjeeonia. The nail biting turns to teeth chattering and for once in their existence, the fear looms of something they have always tried to avoid amongst each other: war.

 

***

 

The morning sun rises anew. In its wake, it paints the sky with shifting colors of red and orange and yellow. From up top the palace balcony decorated in wreaths of roses and exotic flowers, a beautiful maiden steps out with a bundle nestled within her arms. The blood red sky and the clouds shaded in dark black, welcome her to a new day. She opens her arms and the bundle unravels into a flock of doves. They flutter into the air for a while and then soar out, and into formation. A good omen one might say

 

Today there is yet another parade. This time, the dictator will walk amongst his loyal black-clad soldiers. The bleachers will again be filled with people, but this time they will be able to see their beloved leader face to face.

 

The parade ground fills with soldiers and banners, flowers and glimmers. Then he appears, their beloved leader, enclosed amongst his soldiers, but openly visible to the public. The heat is unbearable, but not enough to deter a glimpse of the man who has changed their nation. Only soft breezes give relish, making their entrance known by the gentile swaying of the palm trees.  The leader walks on, waving to his children while pacing amongst his spatially separated, praetorian guards.

 

But oh, what’s this? A tiny figure slips through the colossal black-clad soldiers, making its way around their legs which are placed firmly on the ground like sturdy columns. The leader dressed in his black and red wardrobe reaches down to pick it up. And out manifest a beautiful little girl with bright blue eyes and flowing blonde hair. In her arms, she cuddles a bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers. Their beloved leader holds her tightly within this arms and smiles at her. That smile. That smile that would fool anyone with its inviting look and its bright shining teeth. That smile that would deter anyone from believing that this man could be capable of any evil whatsoever. The glowing little girl extents her hands and offers their leader the flowers. With his gloved hand, cladded in jagged red and black designs, he takes her offer like a gentleman. With that, she kisses him on the cheek, and a roar of excitement and benevolent praise ripples throughout the crowed. He then points up, and directs her attention into the sky. The toddler looks up, her little hand shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun. With a loud roar, formations of steel birds swoop in, dancing in the blue and white canvas above. They begin twirling in loopy loops, and gobble goos. Smoke trails behind them and takes the shape of twisting patterns and turning formations until they all scatter at once, and in the sky, a single letter is embroiled in the Heavens; The letter "K" in puffy white clouds. 

 

Across the borders of Soodonia. the meeting amongst the leaders of Creedonia and Banerjeeonia is done. A hard day’s work of politics has come to a close. One of the three leaders of Banerjeeonia exits the United Nations building. The stars twinkle above her like jewels in the black heavenly dome above. A little girl cry's “mommy" and rushes in to her arms. 

"How was your day sweet heart?"

"Good"

They then embrace each other with a kiss and she lifts her daughter up into her arms. A Fast moving jewel catches the little girl’s eyes. It sails across the heavens with the speed of the god Mercury. 

 

"Look mommy! A shooting star!"

 

The child's mother looks up to see what as caught her young daughter’s eye. She sees it too, a tiny white flare sailing across the night.

 

"Make a wish mommy!"

 

But no wish comes forth, instead an eerie silence. It had finally been done. This new dictatorship, thought to become an economic and social incompetence, had done the impossible. It had touched the very stars. The beige folder enclosing a report about a military spy satellite had been dismissed as a rumor. “This regime can't be capable of such feats" some had said. But now beige folders were being placed on desks from both sides of the border.  Beige folders containing national secrets.

 

***

 

It has been done. The foundations are firmly planted. Its opposition erased, its loyalist fed, and its people given bread and circuses. The crowed goes mad. Mad for the last time. Their beloved leader steps out onto the stage and moves towards the podium. Before him, his military is gathered in formation. Throughout the streets, the crazed people surround the black mass occupying the center. On the horizon, the statue erected in his image points to the setting sun and caresses its edge with its stone index finger. This city made anew is engulfed by the rays of the sun. Its beams reflect off of the many gold plated columns that hold up the newly constructed forum buildings; modeled in the architecture of ancient Rome and Greece. 

 

The leader steps out and is taken back by the endless oceans of people shouting his name. All around them, red and gold banners hang from the many city buildings surrounding the people. The sea of people erupts in a roar of over joy  and the red and gold banners sway in the wind as if waving him a welcome. With one firm arm, he salutes his people with a stiff arm salute and  retracts it back to his bosom. In his other hand, he holds a tiny white piece of paper. A tiny white piece of paper containing a speech. A speech outlining a dream.  A dream outlining conquest and empire.