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william
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william |
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beautyincalvary Member
since 2006-07-13
Posts 98 |
Switzerland was supposed to be the land of safety, of opportunity, of discovery. Her snowy Alps were a symbol of any dignity left in a world so corrupted by the bursting, barren cities of electricity and crime. She was supposed to be a virgin in an unchaste world - free and equal. William suppressed a snort. Well then again, so was America once. William was crunched into a ball, bouncing with the van over each pothole and speed bump, both strategically placed, William figured, to prevent anyone from doing exactly what he and his sister were doing: escaping. William did not want to leave his family. He did not want to at all. He remembered their faces, so close and tangible only hours before; now they were no closer to him than the sun. And it was dark in the van. His eyes had adjusted by now to see the Hispanic driver and the embrace of his six-year-old sister, cold to him amongst the potatoes and the anger. The anger was fouling up his nose; it was nauseous like rotting potatoes. But he mustn’t be angry, for anger leads to hate - hate like the regime’s hate that stoops the most honest of people. William had a friend whose father was a good man that loved his family and fought for democracy. But Russian infiltration led to corruption and torture and money. William had not seen his friend in a year. Since then, many people began disappearing. And now William was too. Anna stirred in William’s arms. “Where are we?” she sang with her sweet baby voice, her light brown hair darkened in the blackness. A shh followed. “Where are we?” “I don’t know. You must be quiet,” he whispered. “Are we safe?” A voice growled from the driver. “Safer than you’ve been in a while.” William studied the mysterious man for a moment. His dark eyes seemed wild in the rearview mirror, but they were kind. He seemed to be a man who had seen many things rugged. “Where are we going?” “You mean you don’t know?” “Our parents told us nothing.” The man paused slightly as he scratched his brow. “We’re going to Hell.” So it existed: Hell, the underground town of exiles beneath an unknown city of France. William had heard whispers of it, from the mouths of his parents and other adults. He had even asked about it, but they pretended as if they had never spoken of it. The greatest minds were to be there, in hiding, calculating plans of revolt and spreading the remnants of democracy. William had only one question. “Why?” “You are not to stay there. I have duties to which I must attend. Your father did me a couple favors, so I am returning them, taking you and your sister to safety. After we pass through Hell, there is a place where people have resisted the Ch’oi regime. I cannot speak its name to you. But I will take you there.” “What favors did my daddy do for you?” Anna asked after the man was finished speaking. But silence lingered for the remainder of the ride. William noticed first the sour smell and then one of earth. He felt as if Earth were consuming him, the muddy stench of rivers and... septic tanks. They were underground. William looked around, his eyes adjusting to the dimmed lights, bright like a blazing fire from the darkness of the van. There was a door, a metal door, high security. William was surprised. He had pictured the 19th century sewer systems, complete with Gothic doors and embellished lanterns. The driver was speaking to a guard, in a language William figured was Portugese. He had never been an expert with languages but he knew the foreign tongue was neither Spanish nor French. As the lights became less like screeching shocks to William’s retinas, the driver’s face became more and more familiar. Wrinkles creased his eyes and forehead, yet he looked younger than William’s father. Think, think. Who could this man be? And then he remembered. When William was younger, his father was a writer for the New York Times, before the paper had been confiscated by the Ch’oi League. This man had come often to dinner with the family, talking enthusiastically about the progress being made with paper circulations. Until this time, William had assumed they were talking about the Times. But now William realized how deep into the resistance his father really was. William now realized the danger his family was facing back in Switzerland. If his father was discovered, he and his sister would be with them when the League sent them to Detainment Camps. Writing for a resistance paper was punishable by death. Suddenly William began to shiver. He was underground some foreign city, completely vulnerable to capture. True, he knew nothing, but as soon as the metal doors would slide open, William knew he would no longer be an innocent eleven-year-old. Anna, clinging onto him, sensed his fear. Her blue eyes widened but she said nothing, whimpered none. She was braver than him, William thought. The guard wore a midnight blue and sunglasses. If he weren’t shaking so violently, William would have laughed. How many feet were they underground? But then he began to fear the glasses. They represented the mystery, the eyes behind the glasses, like the metal doors that were now sliding open in silent creaks, held either misery or comfort. Or perhaps both. |
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| © Copyright 2008 emily boresow - All Rights Reserved | |||
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beautyincalvary Member
since 2006-07-13
Posts 98 |
Anyone? |
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