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THE FUTURE HAD wept as she watched us race to her. She couldn't help but wail for the lives that were about to be lost, as I, myself, could not bear to think of the souls that would be relinquished for the sake of the future—shedding but a single tear for every soul soon sullied by politics. Still, nobody but I had been standing above in apprehension.
Each body bound to the limit with duty, as though compelled to do so by the hands of a higher being, somehow, slid into perfect place; hands and feet moving like time could not stop for them. They had scattered like memories, some afar, some destined never to leave. But all the while scattered anyway. Fragments and fibres of something of a higher calibre than they would ever be, of a higher power than they could ever obtain. Revolution.
I stood above my people, observing them all in their most basic, yet honourable, forms as they seemingly slaved away for but one person. Those above had always been unable to extend but a kind smile in the direction of those in the gutter, rushed bones exhausted down to the marrow within them. All working for people who had not cared for them. For someone who would never know of their sacrifice for their land.
We had been high above, yet nobody could have felt as small as I had, like grains of sand stuck between happy toes as they ran along it. The grains that get stuck and wedged, forced to be complacent for the rest of someone else's plan. I gripped at the stoney balcony the same very way the vines had, knotted and tangled by nature's decision to do so. I had almost wished that some disaster would come and sweep me away before time could catch up to the wrongdoing, and somehow, with breathtakingly, otherworldly conviction, I return back as the beautiful vines clasped around our home.
To voice such a thought would be delirium.
No more delirious than the idea that they had all been gathered there for me. To see me off on my departure to France, some were even to accompany me for the first time ever. New roles crafted like the blade of a blacksmith, our very own weaponry of covert eyes and underground proceedings. Yet I couldn't help but feel guilty that these lives could be taken amid a war or even used as bait and pawns in a larger game. Much like Philip had been, unknowingly signing his partnership in peace under false pretences. Pretences I had created to secure the very things I had needed, becoming the very thing I had never wanted to become.
A liar.
And what good fortune could a liar possibly bring to the people?
I hadn't wished for any of them to accompany me. Growing old without even a choice of company or friendship, one grows accustomed to the cradling hands of silence. I had only known how to occupy my youth with crushes and lust—nothing truly of substance to the soul. But now, I simply had no choice but to promise myself to my country.
I surveyed the faces surrounding me, not one of them filling the void that had been awaiting the comfort of home. Not one of them had felt much like home at all. Not even Lucia as she readily stood at the carriages, the morning sunlight reflecting in the blue of her eyes. Not even such kind eyes would bring solace to someone about to embark on an unfamiliar new journey.
