Revolutionary Tactics

Prologue: A Cry for Help.

In the smog covered cities of England the revolution is everywhere. The harsh regime is being challenged and little acts of defiance give hope to desperate citizens. The government is scared. Never before have the people rebelled – never before have the people stood up together as a whole.

In the city of London, silence reigns. The government had tried to make an example earlier that day, one last chance to regain control. People have been killed. Now the usually vibrant city is hushed – the only sounds are the random squeaking of rats on the lookout for food. The sky-scraping cooling towers emitting steam protrude out all over the crowded landscape of old houses and misshapen streets.

In a deserted street, lined with abandoned warehouses, a figure steps out of a narrow alleyway. She is thin, and her arms wrap around her shaking body for warmth. She bites her lips as she peers into the foggy darkness, her eyes covered by thick goggles to keep the worst of the poisonous fumes out. Red hair peeks out from the dark cap which casts her face in shadow, giving the impression she does not want to be seen.

A quiet scuffling sound is heard in the alley behind her – she spins round, her hand going instantly to her waist – to an unseen weapon hidden in the folds of her coat. She visibly relaxes when a brown mouse scurries from the alley – but she is still tense. Her hand stays on her concealed weapon and she pulls her scarf up around her mouth.

She taps her foot of the jagged pavement in a rhythmic beat, eyes scouring the shadowy street carefully. She stops tapping her foot suddenly and stares through the mist in front of her – she steps back into the shadows, hand gripping the weapon hidden inside her coat.

A man walks through the mist, his suit is dirty and his trousers worn. His face is bruised and the goggles covering his eyes are scratched. He glances around apprehensively, brushing his shaggy hair back with his fingers.

“Ophelia,” he hisses is into the surrounding darkness, trying to look further into the dark fog. The girl steps out of the shadows and looks the man up and down – her eyebrows raised.

“Elijah.” The girl says. Her voice is a mixture of silk and gravel. The word seems forced, as though she could not work out just how to form the word – like she had not spoken for a while. At the same time, her voice is soft and melodious.  

“Why did you ask to meet me here?” She asks. This time the words come easier, but harsher. She has to look slightly up to meet his gaze, and when she does he turns his head away – ashamed. “Elijah,” she repeats. “Why did you ask to meet me here?”

The man looks at her again, shakes his head and whispers; “not here. Walk.” He turns and begins to walk back the way he came. Ophelia curses quietly, looks furtively around and follows him, her small heels clicking as she walks.

After only a few minutes of walking Elijah stops and pulls Ophelia into a small alleyway. “Ophelia,” he says. “I wouldn’t come unless I was desperate but-“

“Elijah,” Ophelia interrupts. “What have they done to you?” She reaches out a tentative pale hand and rests it on his face, next to large purple bruise on his pale cheek. She gingerly removes his goggles from his face and gasps. His eyes are swollen and bruised, bloodshot and scared.

“Who did this to you Ell?” she asks – stroking his face lightly as though it can get rid of the marks that stain his face. “Did they do it to you?”

“No, no. Ophelia. Give me my goggles back,” He asks, ducking away from her. He looks desperate and anxious: the conversation is obviously not going as he planned. “Ophelia, this is important.”

“Really Ell? Is it more important than getting beaten up?”

“Look around you Ophelia. People get worse done to them every single day,” he says gesturing to the empty space around him. He turns his head and looks her in the eyes. “Worse happened to David.”

She visibly tenses and turns her head away. She chews on her lip nervously and shuffles her long skirt around. She looks back up at him and says simply – “what do you want Elijah?”

He frowns in concentration, placing his goggles back on his battered face. “We need you Ophelia. You can see it happening can’t you? The revolution,” He looks to the ground again – as though ashamed. “The truth is Ophelia; we can’t do it without you. All of this,” he gestures around wildly again. “All of this, Ophelia – it will all have been for nothing. We need you.”

She bites her lip nervously again - her lips are chapped and sore from this excessive habit – and scuffs the floor with her boot. She looks around desperately. “I can’t. I swore I wouldn’t Ell – I swore to him, to David.”

“Think about it, at least-” Ophelia tries to interrupt him, but he silences her with a menacing look. “You might have sworn to him, but he didn’t understand it. He could never understand it.” Ophelia furrows her eyebrows and opens her mouth to argue against him, but he is already turning on his heel to leave.

 “Ophelia,” he says as he walks away. “Just consider it – if not for us, for the whole of England. We have been oppressed to long.” He looks around as he says it – searching for any sign of life. Quickly, he has disappeared into the shroud of fog surrounding the streets of London.

Ophelia frowns. She looks both unsure and a little frightened; she tucks fallen wisps of hair back into her cap and begins to walk off. She pulls her jacket tighter around her slim frame to protect against the harsh cold, and looks around nervously. If that conversation had been heard, or they had been seen conversing outside past curfew – well, she dreads to think what could happen.

As she walks further towards the heart of the city, where a few lights still twinkle and the murmur of conversation can be heard, she begins to think. Of everything that happened to her in the past two years and how her life became mixed with Elijah and the elusive David. Two years ago she had been almost normal. Her life had been simple – boring, yet simple. Then her mother had died. Taking into the afterlife any chance Ophelia had had at a life.

On the tide of her mother’s death, even worse times had washed in. But they were interesting, fun and above all they helped her forget the woes of her past. For the tide had brought in the mysterious, infamous David Elsing. And that was where her life really began.