“The Left that’s left”, junior read out loud as wincing at the sound of a gun fired too close for comfort. He then went on to read the main article, or parts of which he thought made sense.
“You never said-” began a voice next to him, as close as the gun. The Captain.
“Did I have to?” he responded.
Gunfire again. “You have to if you have to”, the Captain said, clearing doubts on faking. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“It’s not an uncommon thought to have thought that Marxist ideals took the ultimate plunge into obscurity when Latin America fell, the tale of heat from the cold needn’t be told again. But what the UCA (United Continents of America) knows not is that while the communists have been thrown out to the sea, they happen to have had vessels enough to save some spirit…”
Gun fired again, this time followed by a fading moan – The Captain had missed his mark. However, it didn’t take him long to correct his mistake, this time giving way to quiet after the ammo.
“Yes, I’m talking about the Atlantic. Ever wondered why the UCA flies? Ever wondered if the Airbus was anything more than just a cruise (or cargo) vehicle? Ever felt that the S.S.Obama is not just the wreck it’s said to be? If you have, you haven’t been just alleging: You’re closer to reality than the totalitarian can ever get, you’re hitting it right”, he paused for a while. “Have we made-”
“Yes we have”, came the interruption.
“Did he-”
“Yes he did.”
“Wow”, he sighed, mostly in relief. “Thank the force for that!”
The men then went ahead with what they were doing, although the Captain never really stopped.
“Post-modernism helped identify with them, even empathize perhaps. But a wider eye helps one see that post-apocalyptic is hardly the case here where revolution is concerned, because there’s a tag-team of proprietors of a movement that only just showed its first fa-”
“Wait a minute.” The gunfire had paused too.
He turned to face him. “What?”
The Captain pointed a finger at him. “You”, he said, slightly perturbed. “You could have-”
“The name was on the other side”, he responded coolly. “I can’t have.”
He thought for a while and then remembered, in the mildest of flashes. The boy was right.
“Shit speaks for itself”, he said, resuming business. “We’re just the calling card.”
“Have a look at this”, Junior said, pointing at a photograph next to a name obscured. Both of them looked down to their left, at a man who was trying hard to stay still, his tears signifying life.
“I missed that one”, he said in awe. “Of all my American a-”
He gripped the man hard by his collar and propped him against a cabin wall, the latter’s shudder strengthening his give-away.
“The last stand”, read Junior, his eyes fixed almost entirely on the faking man. “Of Marxism.”
He was in tears with tantrums to come. We need to note here that his nationality is of least importance, for it would mean kidding ourselves if we said the term ‘Nation’ was still in existence, even in the vaguest possible way. He wept, not out of fear but out of frustration and anger at his act of stupidity, at his firmness of opinion now made absurd.
“Doubt if you understand”, the Captain sneered. “We don’t speak bullshit over here.”
A splutter is all he received in return.
“If you mind”, Junior piped up, “can I-”
“I’m not going to kill him”, he smiled. “I counted a hundred, know nothing beyond.”
Silence, two pairs of wide eyes and one pair of slits.
“This man can swim”, he said, 'patting him on his back' before the splash. "And now, the resistance has the Atlantic for itself."
No comments:
Post a Comment