The day that changed everything started with us bowing our heads, all marching like one. Left foot, right foot, left foot again, we are one. My hair is tamed, respectfully braided and tucked into a bun. My standard issued black bodysuit and the neutral expression on my face make me blend in with the crowd. I am them, they are me, we are one. The shadows stretch all through the avenue, simply choking the few signs of life left here. The footsteps all echo as one, left foot, right foot, left foot again. A cunning ray of sunlight penetrates the curtain of supremacy to remind us we are still alive. Yet, the ephemeral bliss of the sun's warmth is ceased by the flag just as quickly as it appeared. I don't turn my head while I'm marching, but at the corner of my eye, I spot a once familiar face, now just another pair of stomping feet. The serious expression takes away the shimmer of her eyes. She looks older, tired. Her laugh echoes through my mind. Shadows of before swallow me away while my body is still marching.
The sun is shining the way it did five years ago, I feel the ends of my hair tickle my bare shoulders. The city is still bright and loud, the houses still all different colors. She is walking next to me, I realize how bright her face used to be, now it just looks drained. I remember the once so familiar feeling of peace, which at this point feels so dreadfully strange to me. I am yanked back. Here, we don't know each other anymore. Obedience is the only thing we share.
The fabric crumples on the afternoon wind. Soon, the flag regains its full dominance over us, over me, we are one. The bright yellow stands out against the light grey sky overshadowing the dull grey buildings. The menacing, black Eye is looking proudly in the middle of it. It looms over us. Very few feel it, yet we all pretend we do, because we are one. I dare to raise my stare towards it. It does not stare back, they want me to think it does, but it does not.
Another wave drains me and I am once again washed up on the shore of my old life. I hear the drums around me , several flags are put up, everyone is focused on the improvised podium put up the day after the election. I don't have to look to know I'm holding his hand, I vividly remember it. I'm scared. The man on the podium is a stranger, not just to me but to all of us, but we all watch him, enchanted and nodding. My head trembles as his lies enter my ears. I turn my head to him knowing it's the last time I'll see him. As I feel myself slipping away, I try to memorize every detail of his face. The cruel feeling of reality hits me before I'm ready. All I see is the asphalt, trembling from all the footsteps merging into one. My vision blurs for a moment before a single tear drops on the ground. I stare at it as I move forward. Sadness is all I have left of him.
My body is much more obedient than my mind. It goes on its own, left foot, right foot, left foot again. The sight of marching towards the government building is inconceivable, at the same time so ordinary and usual. We almost resemble a flock of wild geese, all black and pacing forward, except our formation is not so free. We are not moving toward a better place. We are all the same and we are one. There is no you or me, just us, and we are marching, to show how grateful we are. At least, that is what they tell us. Nonetheless, there is nothing to be grateful for. Nothing is all we have. We feast on hopes and dreams. We bet the nothing we have on a brighter future, simply because it couldn't be darker than it already is. We get drunk on the simple fact of knowing that a better life does exist. Even though we cannot live it, there is a lingering satisfaction merely contemplating the fulfilling things this world has to offer.
Right foot, left foot, right foot, stop. My footsteps die out as soon as we appear in front of the government building, one of the very few buildings which are allowed to stand out in any way. Its walls in the bright chartreuse shade seem almost as made out of gold under the spotlight. It is set up so all the important men can appear as glowing once they come up to the podium to give a speech. The building is fringed from every direction. Each neighborhood steadily marching in, all like one. As soon as the first speaker comes up, my brain shuts the sound out. I don't hear a single word of his speech, but I am sure I could repeat it whole. It is always the same. Not daring to raise my head, my eyes quickly fly up glowering at the one speaking. Through my eyelashes, I can barely see him, but even that is enough to notice the expensive white suit he proudly parades around in. The spotlight theatrically reflects off the gold threads sewn in the edges of his jacket. His disgustingly healthy richly plump pink spoiled cheeks are ready to spit even more eyes.
There is a fire inside me that refuses to be put out. It ignites my veins and turns my heart into ash. It burns me inside out and eats me alive. It demands justice, seeking freedom and vengeance. It combines the strength of my anger and the hopefulness of wanting freedom. It feeds on the rage of being repressed and lied to for far too long. A craving for change and a scream for help while knowing the latter is not coming. I have to act.
I am not marching anymore, , it is dark and I am walking home through the dim lit streets. Lines of flags spread out on both of my sides as far as eyes can glimpse. The Eye stares proudly and intently on all of them. It is placed in such a way you have to look up to it. Unimstakably, it looks down on you unceasingly.
Before I enter the scarce shop at the bottom of my building , I stop to decide whether I will buy dinner or logs for the night. My freezing, scarred hands clench the last few coins I hold to my name. I earned them working for the government that neglects my existence. I stare at the light reflecting off the pieces of metal, trying to decide whether I would rather freeze or starve to death. My eyes flare up to the bright yellow flag and The Eye on it. Having fiercely stared at it so long, I swear I start to see it blink.
Suddenly, the flame does not burn inside me anymore. I can feel it igniting throughout my veins, burning in my eyes, warming my cheeks. If this fire were enough to keep me warm, I would never have to buy matches again. All the fear, sadness and hunger I felt inside suddenly turns into rage. I hated that Eye so much, until I realized it was not The Eye I should be mad at. It's not The Eye that made me pay huge taxes and work twelve -hour shifts every day so that the billionaires in this country could grow richer every minute.
This is the moment when I decide I will change everything. If I had to die, it was not going to be of the cold or starvation. I am going to die fighting. Before I know it, I am buying all the petrol I can with the remaining money, heading for the center. My head is not bowing, my eyes are not gawping at the ground, instead they are looking ahead. My walk is steady, but unrushed. I walk with a purpose and a goal. I'm standing in front of the government building, eyeing it. Finally, I am not afraid to see. My life flashes before me, and I am ashamed. I am utterly remorseful of how much I have succumbed to, regretful of all the times I stayed silent and obedient. The thought of the abundance of all the things I have done nothing about because I was scared engulfs me. Of all the weapons they have against us, our fear is the most powerful. They might have conquered this country with tanks and guns, but it is only by using fear that they are keeping it overpowered. We have become scared to think, to speak up, to refuse. Fear stands over us and bows our heads, blinding us and making us think we should keep obeying.
I walk up to the entrance of the building, the door has golden flames. I think about how many mouths its handle alone could feed. The government keeps the doors open at all times because they are sure we would not dare to enter. It is their arrogance that will be the end of them, I bet. The ground floor is empty, only a few lights flickering, but I can clearly see the luxury in which they are residing. The whole ceiling is painted with huge chandeliers, all the wall covered in wallpaper. There is a fireplace almost as big as my whole apartment, its bright red terracotta reflecting off the marble floors like blood.
I spin around the room, taking in all the richness. I think about how ridiculous humans are. How could such a thing as money, a bunch of metal melted into molds, make someone so feral, willing to take lives and futures from millions just so that their pockets could jingle. If there was any doubt in my mind earlier, it is gone now.
I poured the petrol over the financial records they have been forging. I watch the censored newspaper soak up. I drown the velvet curtains in the liquid and scatter the rest over a big oak dining table next to the fireplace. Ripping the flag from the wall, I shove it in the fireplace. Standing at the entrance, I take in this moment. If I were to succeed, the people would talk about this day and my actions. Yet, no one would ever speak of this exact moment, seconds before lighting the match that changes everything. No other soul will ever know. It is going to be a moment just for me to treasure. I light the match on the fourth try and toss it on the oak table. The flames reflecting in my eyes are almost as fierce as the ones burning inside me.
It all burned, down to a crisp. There is nothing left of the building that was a symbol of control and fear for so long. And without fear, the government is helpless. The people are ready to stand up. If the government hadn't been burned down, we would have demolished it with our bare hands. We are walking out on the streets, our heads raised, eyes wide open, looking up. We are letting our hair down and our voices out. Absorbed in the roaring laughter, joyous cry and victorious screaming, we are people. Tired of being walked over and controlled, no one stays untouched by the momentum. We storm across the avenue, ripping the flags and throwing down the statues. For the first time, we really are one, an empowered, fierce one. As we burn the flags, I catch The Eye on them looking mortified.