1
When they were at war, everything was easier. It had been The Proponents vs The Opposition. They couldn’t come up with a more creative name. At least that’s what all The Proponents thought, because the Opposition was not fighting for an idea or a belief. Their existence was solely devoted to opposing the ideas and revolution pushed by The Proponents.
It had all begun five years before, when a wounded country ravaged by a deadly diseased and impoverished by a set of bad decisions that further sealed its doom like dominoes tumbling onto one another, was trying to come up with an idea to land back on its feet. What could they do to make everything better? That’s the main question everybody made themselves. Until a young woman, Willow Torres came up with a detailed plan to fix everything: the economy, the citizens’ livelihood and even the environment. It required a lot of money, but of course she had an idea for that as well: tax the multi-millionaires and use some of that money to give to every citizen so they could have enough to live in the meantime while jobs began to rise again, and use another part to finance programs within the government so they could create technology that could be used to help the environment and create medical equipment and treatments to help those who needed it. It required, furthermore, that the people who were able to live more comfortably chip in in order to help those who couldn’t work or lived in extreme poverty.
No one knew if it would work for sure, but it sounded good to most of the people. And why wouldn’t it? It was the best plan they had, and the best shot, especially since the side that opposed the plan hadn’t come up with anything at all. But there were some people who wouldn’t have it. Some didn’t like the fact the people who were living comfortably had to give some money in order to make it work, some said that they wouldn’t have free healthcare for people who needed treatment; if they couldn’t pay, then they had to die, it was only fair to the people who could. Both of these sides had one main argument among them: they didn’t want their beloved country to be poisoned by socialism.
Other points of view were a little less radical, but just as adamant. They didn’t like the rules they had to follow to save the environment, or they thought that the timeline for the plan was way too long, or maybe that it was impossible even if it was a good idea. No matter, the damage was done, and it tore the country in two sides: The Proponents and The Opposition, just like mentioned before.
The day of the vote to decide whether they would adopt the new plan, Willow Torres addressed some of her supporters from her apartment terrace, where she was staying with her family. She emerged all dressed up, with her kid niece in her arms. He gave a passionate speech that touched the people’s hearts and filled them with hope. All but one heart, though. From a nearby building, a man geared up with fatigues and battle equipment fired a .22 long rifle at the balcony where Willow was talking. No one knew whether he’d meant to shoot her niece or if he’d miscalculated, but the girl was instantly obliterated in her aunt’s arms. Pandemonium ensued. Everyone ran, alarmed, seeking refuge or at least to get out of that street. Before Willow could go back in, the man fired his weapon again. And got her squarely in the chest. She stumbled back and went in. The bullet had lodged too close to her heart for comfort, and after a short struggle in the hospital, Willow finally died.
That was when war finally broke.
The Proponents and the Opposition were at war for the better part of five years, and even though it wasn’t easy (no war is), it was still better than what would come later. War took over the whole country, and everywhere people went, they had to carry weapons and display an arm band with the sigil for their side. If they weren’t wearing a band, anyone could shoot them, and if they didn’t have a weapon on them, they couldn’t defend themselves from their enemy.
In just a year, the death toll climbed to 400.000, and it continued to go up exponentially all the way to thirty million until Parton Rosenberg finally emerged. He was a charismatic man who had never moved a finger in his life to get what he wanted. He hadn’t fought in the war because he had a bunker underneath his house where he’d been holed in for its entirety and enough money to still have food delivered to his house. He certainly didn’t care if people lived or die. Some say he decided to put an end to it because he was bored, some say that war finally affected him in some way or other. Nobody knew for certain, but he got involved either way, and that was what mattered.
He addressed the whole country one day. His speech was just as passionate as Willow’s, but it tried to appeal to both sides. His main message was peace.
“In this day, I come to you, my fellow citizens,” he announced, “to appeal to your better nature and to your desire to finally, after all these bleak years, achieve peace and come together once more to build the beautiful country we all belong to once again.” He looked straight at the camera that was broadcasting him to every screen in the country and smiled thinly. To some it reeked of hypocrisy, but it convinced almost everyone. “I come to you as a non-partisan. I don’t care about your fight. I don’t even remember why you’re fighting in the first place. Do you remember?” he paused for dramatic effect. “I come to you as a messenger of peace and love. If you lower your weapons and agree to end the war, I promise to lead you with great leadership and a 20/20 vision into the future. You can trust me.” He grinned. “Think about it.” All screens went blank.
The war continued, but halfheartedly. Parton had been able to tear through people’s resolution and through their beliefs. He’d appealed to their tiredness and their desire to stop fighting, and he’d planted a seed. Little by little, most people on both sides put down their weapons and accepted Parton Rosenberg as their leader. Maybe that should have been their first red flag, but they just wanted peace, and were glad to finally have a voice to listen to and a leader to follow. Within a week, the war was no more and Parton became their official head, selected unanimously by the people who stopped fighting.
There was, however, a key resistance from The Proponents that didn’t stop. They didn’t trust Parton, and were wary of the way he had taken over the country’s hope and managed to turn everyone to him. When the war ended, they simply went into hiding and built an underground home in the mountains.
Rosenberg’s command became chaotic and unfair. People had to work long hours to restore economic prosperity and they were paid meagre salaries that were just enough to eat. Most of the money was funneled to billionaires who were named heads of the Industry Department. Most of them had been Parton’s friends before the war. The economy was still crashing either way, since this model was essentially the previous one but even more broken. People would ask Rosenberg about the reason why things weren’t getting better and he’d dismiss the question with a shrug.
“This is not my fault. Our country will thrive in time, but the damage you did was deeper than I had originally anticipated. You only have yourselves to blame. However, I will continue to work for the good of the country and make us great!” Some people continued cheering him.
A curfew was enforced. Rosenberg blamed the fumes the war had created, and allowed the police to go into the streets at night and shoot anyone who wasn’t following the curfew on the spot. He also monopolized TV, radio, and newspapers. They printed whatever he told them to print, and every single piece of news had to go through him for thorough inspection before going out to the public. People naturally didn’t know that, but the resistance had an informant with eyes on everything and everyone, and they knew everything that was going on.
Rufus Ramírez, a young head of the resistance, was watching one of Parton’s addresses on a small TV he’d pilfered from a nearby store. He grunted and cursed in all the right places, until his anger became so big that he flung the Coke he was drinking at the TV. The screen went blank with static.
“Something wrong?” his partner and best friend, Gina Radley said behind him.
“Everything!” He turned to face her. “Look at what this… buffoon is doing with the country. Just because people wanted peace, they ate up all of his bullshit and look at what he’s done. And I’m sure a lot of them would still vouch for him, echoing his stupid claims that this is all our fault. It’s The Opposition’s fault. They killed Willow Torres, that’s what started all this clusterfuck.”
“Can I tell you something, Ruf?” Gina approached him. Her voice was calm, but it shook slightly.
“You already did,” he replied. A strained smile played at the edges of his mouth. “What is it?”
“I think we should put a stop to it. We are, after all, the ones who didn’t fall under his spell. Plus, he doesn’t know about us!”
“Yeah, we can’t be sure about that.”
“Our informant said so, and he’s become close to Rosenberg.”
“I’m not sure if we can trust him.” He lowered his head, as if embarrassed.
“Don’t do this. Stop refusing to trust anyone who crosses our paths. Understand that they might be honest allies.” She paused, waiting for a rebuttal. When he didn’t offer any, she plodded on: “I really think we should take this matter into our own hands. Why, then, did we go into hiding? To cower here like scared moles? Why do we call ourselves a resistance if we are hiding? We can’t resist if we are not part of the community. What’s happening outside is not affecting us, so why do we claim to care and to resist? Why?”
Rufus sighed. She was right. They needed to act. As soon as possible. He raised his head and looked Gina in the eye. “Is he making any public appearances in the near future?”
Gina smiled. “Glad you ask. He’s having a public speech a week from today.”
“Are there any government planes leaving from here that day?”
“Just one. Rosenberg’s Head of Commerce will be departing from here at noon on the same day.”
“Perfect. We’ll hijack the airplane. Go rally the troops.”
They did as they had discussed. On the day of the speech, Rufus, Gina, a woman named Retta Simmerman, and a certified pilot named Lincoln Heinz hopped into a small car and made their way to the airport, where they hid in crates full of buttons with Parton’s face that would be given out to people who attended his speech. The crates were stored in the back of the plane, with the Head of Commerce’s luggage. When they were flying at least thirty-eight thousand feet above the ground, they left the crates silently and went to the front of the plane. Retta stayed with the Head of Commerce, surprising him with the cold barrel of her gun on his temple.
“One move and you die,” she muttered.
The rest made their way to the cockpit, where they did the same to the pilot. They bound him and gagged him, removing his gag when he needed to relay a message to the people waiting for the plane where Parton would deliver his message. Rufus held a gun to the back of the pilot’s head for the rest of the flight while Lincoln piloted.
When they were close, Rufus leaned close to the pilot’s ears and told him, “I need you to do me a favor. Tell the people waiting for you that you are running late and will go to the event directly with the plane, no need to wait at the ramp anymore.” He removed the gag and the pilot complied.
They piloted the plane right above the event, where Parton was already giving his speech. When the airplane came into view, Parton stopped what he was saying and exclaimed, “What a man! Here’s my Head of Commerce. Gotta tell you, folks, he’s a man like no other I’ve ever seen, willing to take risks if that’s what needs to be done. He’ll be with us in a minute. In the meantime, give him an applause, why don’t ya.”
Everyone started to clap excitedly. The plane circled the place until they were low enough to get a good shot. That was when Rufus opened the door, holding a .22 long rifle, just like the one that had killed Willow and her niece, and yelled, “Surprise, you piece of shit” at the top of his lungs. He fired twice. His aim was perfect. One shot got Parton squarely on the chest and the other went through his head, fracturing his skull and killing him instantly. He lay behind his podium, blood pooling under him.
Rufus, Gina, and Retta jumped off the plane and landed on the stage with their parachutes. Gina addressed the crowd. “We’re taking over now. We know our country can and will be better without people like him.” She nodded toward the body at her feet. “We are not enforcing a dictatorship, like he did, but rather taking charge until we can have a democratic election again and we elect someone that can actually help us.”
She continued, and the people listened. They were tired, and the resistance took advantage of it. They would build the country from scratch, and this was the best way to start. It would take a long time, but they would do it right.
