04 November 2008

Diary of a revolution

This is a story I had started writing in journal format - written by a young woman living in the future. It's dark. Enjoy!

Posted 4 November 2008 by K. S. Wood - please don't reprint without permission

13 July 2109

I write this to you with a heavy heart.

The rebellion has failed in its infancy.

My friends are gone.

Fish, so tall and playful and noble, was tortured before he was executed. I can still hear his screams and the taunts of the soldiers.

Gideon, considered the brains behind the insurrection and second in command by many of the tyrants, was killed and his body was mutilated and hung on the castle walls.

Chips and Jocky were shot to death as they clung to each other, both barely even old enough to shave. They were taunted for the tears that streamed down their faces as they faced their execution.

KaChoo went to her death with a somber face, her pink and black locks hanging about her shoulders in waves, instead of their usual plaits. Her radiant smile was replaced by a serene look. There were rumors that she died screaming, but I did not hear any screams from my cell.

20 other young men and women were also systematically executed in the castle yard with them.

Our leader, Winchester, was not killed. Those in power insisted it was because they wanted to flush out the rebellion and any that might remain by allowing them to try to release him from prison, but I know the real reason why. It is because they are afraid of him.

To kill him would be to unleash their own undoing.

My sister, Rhea, and I were spared by the grace of our father's name. He was Jonas Pippin, the great writer who was executed for his ideas some 20 years ago by the monarchy who once ruled the land. It was his ideas that enabled the current dictatorship to come to power as a democracy. Little did the people know that the democracy that was so empowered by the ideas my father wrote down would soon become a dictatorship under one man.

It was a wise man who once wrote that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely, and that was the case with our tyrant.

I dare only write at night, afraid that those who guard us will find my diary and discover that I too have become like my father, a radical with ideas of her own. During the daytimes, this simple pad of paper and pen hide within the hem of my cloak. Not only my own sister knows it is there. I do not wish her to be tortured if this is found, so even she is forbidden from knowing where it is.

I want these events to be remembered.

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