The Manifest

Chapter 1

     The masses started to gather around the chosen scene close to an hour before the designated time. They were dressed warmly that night because the weatherman was calling for rain, but the patrons still came in droves holding candles they were eager to light up for their cause. The folk attending were of all ages, wearing their beliefs on their sleeves like a badge, unwilling to conceal a thing. Each person felt secure to do so, as they took comfort in the company of others who were all there for the same reason: the vigil to honor their fallen kin.

     The vigil was an exercise of their freedom, something that many ordinary citizens often took for granted. The people who were gathering represented the family of those who made the ultimate sacrifice for their way of life. The men and women had gathered for the right to cry, scream, and voice any dissent they might have for anyone they felt was to blame. When this many people showed up, the press wasn't too far behind but they kept their distance and never got in anyone's faces. It was a rare moment as the guys behind the camera were, to a minimum, slightly respectful.

     At first this vigil was something Jessica did out of respect for the ones she loved and lost. To her, the vigil represented a duty she felt obligated to do every time she was called upon. After attending so many of them, they had started to become a little trivial to her. The honor and significance of the event was dwindling with each experience, as many of the vigils were often booked too close together and a lot of the patrons were frustrated as their cause wasn't causing any positive change with the politicians who didn't seem to give lick about them or their fallen brethren.

     Yet Jessica was still there anyway, defiant even to her own feelings and ready to light up. To others is was just one candle, but to her it was a significant boycott of the war that at this point disgusted her. Her ongoing petition for their government to end hostilities and follow the advice of John: give peace a chance. A short time ago Jessica started to view such events as a child would a household chore. Like doing the dishes, cleaning your room or raking leaves in the backyard, it slowly became more of an unwanted assignment than an event to look forward to. Something you know that had to be done despite the fact that you didn't want to do it. As a result, she had started to pick and choose which events to attend and didn't show up as often as she used to.

     There were even times when Jessica wanted to completely stop attending, but she'd resume again after a short break. Deep inside she knew there never was a choice; fate had made that decision for her a long, long time ago. Jessica had lost so much, and her aunt as well as her expensive therapist believed that going to these vigils would help her recover from the trauma. They assumed, and even hoped a little bit, that being close to others who knew how she felt would be almost like group therapy. Jessica was surrounded by many people who like herself had lost a loved one to the war. Mothers, fathers, wives, sisters and brothers were there, holding their candles and having a moment to grieve and think about what their loved ones died for. Was it really to disarm a militant nation of nasty weapons? Was it for freedom? Or was it for the no-bid billion dollar corporate contracts that fat cat contributors were carelessly given like peanuts to very hungry elephants?

     Regardless for what reasons each protester clung to, their tears were real as was their pain as they used the event to vent those feelings. Jessica didn't have a son, or a husband, for that matter but she had a family had that been shattered because of the events of the last-half decade. The ongoing war on a concept had broken a lot of families and left a gaping hole in their lives. This was true, for all wars do that and this campaign against terrorism was no exception. Regardless of the politics, everyone seemed to have a beef with the war and how it was being handled, or mishandled in some people's opinion. She didn't know when it happened, but at some point the vigils had transformed from moments of pain and became her outlet to protest for an end to hostilities. She no longer wanted revenge for what happened to the people she loved, she just wanted it all to end.