PROLOUGUE
The sun rose slowly but surely on the horizon, the jagged mountains in the light’s path casting long shadows on the earth beneath them. Pastures green and rivers blue were splayed across the countryside; the pastures gleaming brilliant green, dewdrops sparkling with the hue of the rising sun, and the rivers brilliant blue water formed slight waves, the tips casting water up in the air, fragrant of wheat, causing the droplets of water to split the radiant sunlight into all the colours of the spectrum.
Willows that were planted on the riverside swayed softly in the tranquil wind. Songbirds sang cheerful melodies of nature that echoed through the air, into the morning riser’s ears. Flowers shone brightly in their merry colours – blue, red, yellow, orange and white – planted in pots that hung under the windows.
In this particular inhabitant’s room, an old but low standing oak blocked most of the sunlight from entering the window. The little that did enter created brilliant sun shafts that ran into the room spectacularly. The walls were a plain beige with a mahogany window frame. The roof was low, but still comfortable. An old armchair stood in the corner of the room and the fumes from the fireplace blew over the bed, a pleasant scent of apple wood wafted through the stagnant air in the room. All was peaceful this day.
In fact, this part of the country has not been involved in a conflict for the whole magnificent duration of a millennia. There was, however, a war waged here in ancient days, where millions of fragile lives were lost to the fogs of battle. No artefacts or symbols marked the setting of the horrific conflict. One of the two only traces were kept safely guarded in the national archives, heavily guarded by hundreds of metres of rock and the all-seeing eyes of the guards.
The other trace was now growing in the fields that were not farmed for fruit, but kept for fine pastures for grazing animals. Every springtime, flowers of blood red colour bursts though the ground as a reminder of the blood shed on the rich soil that was once hard rock. It reminded of the agonizing years, of many clashes of great empires with conflicting ideologies of how governments should be run.
In those days, the politicians who represented the inhabitants of their area were filthy rich scoundrels, who were elected by the unfair systems that favoured the higher class of society. All politicians and leaders were power hungry, with no common sense, rhyme or reason. This led to the downfall of those mighty empires, through public revolts and revolutions.
The product of all the violent affairs lead to a country that raised out of the ashes, like a glorious phoenix that was reborn. Like a phoenix, this country was fair and mighty for a long period of history, while other bordering empires that have grown from exiles of evil, have started to turn to this country, coveting it hungrily.
The violent political turmoils that led to wars were on the horizon. Any fool would see the high waves tossing and turning in the boiling ocean, not far away, of hatred. Of negativity. Something that any sentient being must learn, is to love. Respect your neighbours, but you must form strong relations with them first. Gaining their trust. Then, you can negotiate what you want with them. This flaw in beings have led to poverty, anger and social insecurity. The leader of nations would settle what they wanted with war. They were blinded by the influence of power and might. These types of leaders are the definition of ‘evil’ for no decent being would put their people, under their command through suffering unless suffering would bring them fruit, bring them prosperity in the long scheme of things.
The most intolerable of evils, however, was enslaving beings of another nation, and forcing them to fight against their own kind. The leaders of this great country had tolerated this behaviour from their neighbours for too long. It is the intolerance of tolerance in the social norm that brings change. Most overwhelmingly, change for the better of all.
Thunder is building… and there is no way to stop it…
I: How Things Change
Waking up was usually a hard task, especially when the campaigning was going rampant in every single major city. More speeches, presentations… all sorts of things that he would rather do. Alas, this is his life and he never got used to it. The yellow sun’s light came into the window in the form of streaks, thanks to the old willow that guarded the front of the bedroom for what seemed to be an eternity. It was there when he purchased the decent house decades ago for quite a hefty price premium because of the uncontrollable inflation in the economy, especially with the treasurer trying to focus his attention on other things like balancing the spending of the government and taxes.
Taxes were a thing that did not really bother him in the past, but now a war was almost inevitable. Taxes were skyrocketing to accommodate the large investments the governments were making in machines of war; like tanks and warships and warplanes. Taxes did bother him. A lot these days, not to mention the wartime levy the government had put in place, which cut many more holes in his wallet.
He used to remember the time when he was young, and could remember he lived on a small country farm that was only thirty miles from the central business district of Rookwood, a sprawling metropolis that was known for its good economic advances in the few decades before his birth. The corner shop used to be a twenty-minute walk from the large farmhouse. They sold lollies and other sweets for one cent.
Nowadays, the same brand of sweets would sell for three dollars apiece, a testament to the high inflation rates of this country, which was already in a financial crisis of not being able to pay loans. Small businesses collapsed and even larger businesses had to steepen the already high price tags for their products to make up for the toll they took from this financial crisis.
He walked over to the dresser, swiftly putting on a white shirt that was well worn and a suit over it. It looked a little scruffy, but who didn’t look like that in these though times except for the richest of citizens? He was finally content after fiddling with his tie for a few minutes, then walked out his bedroom, a modestly sized room. He glanced at the clock which was standing on the living room mantelpiece above the smoking fire that had burnt out during the night.
It was already nine o’clock by the time he dragged himself out of bed, dressed and quickly packed his thick wad of papers into a simple black leather briefcase, well-worn but still functional. One of the rusted bolts on the side that kept the briefcase from opening was starting to loosen but thankfully, there were two bolts on each side.
He rushed out onto his little paved garden path which led to a dusty orange country lane that led to a main road, where he will catch an infrequent bus to the city. The area he lived in currently was very rural with a population density of just under one every square mile. The bus stop was simply a red rod in the ground, to signify that busses that were en route to the city should stop here.
The humming sound of an engine drew near, dust rising on the road to dampen the rising sun’s brightness. The bus slowly crawled up the hill to the bus stop and opened its doors with a hiss of hydraulics. He walked on board, purchasing a ticket from the driver to Edward Terrace in the city. The price was not the usual two dollars and ten cents, but the new price of three dollars due to the ten percent of inflation per annum. Almost everything ripped through the inhabitants of this country’s wallets but the population were resilient. Resilience is a virtue that this country upheld dearly, for being sturdy in the economic nightmare that had plagued the country for decades now.
“Oh hello sir,” said an orange pony who was sitting at the very back of the bus, “Long time no see.”
“Hello Inkard, what are you doing today?” he asked.
“Just the usual sitting in parliament, transcribing everything into the Hansard. It sometimes gets very controversial in there, especially with war on our hooves,” replied Inkard, “One question Washington; what would happen if you do pull this off?”
“Hell gets let loose,” said Washington cryptically.