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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 8 (v.1)

Submitted: May 09, 2013

Reads: 175

Comments: 1

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 09, 2013




Two years.

It has been two years and yesterday I finished my book.

Today it will be published and read by millions of ignorant people.

They will be influenced to go out and cheer his name.

Securing his place at the top for the rest of his useless life.

The press conference yesterday was something out of my dreams. I was sat down in the most comfortable chair I could imagine built. Though I haven’t had much experience with comfort. Lights starting flashing as soon as I touched the pillow of the seat. People started shouting my name. Their faces pale white against the white background of the conference room. Next to me was Colonel Sanders in his glorious Union army uniform, showing off all of his medals. He smiled and waved as his picture was taken countless times. I was still in shock from the lights of the room. The only light I had seen for The Colonel almost every month when he checked the progress was certain that I was sending secret messages to the rebel forces. So I had to start again.

The noise settled down and the reporters took their seats as the conference started.

As soon as the digital clock on the left wall started to countdown from ten minutes the noise started again. I didn’t know to handle it so I let myself search for a question amongst the rabble.

They fought between themselves and I was surprised to see how one person came out on top. They had no respect while arguing but when one came on top they fell silent under the power. It reminded me too much off this world.

The reporter who had won stood facing me with light blue eyes, her blonde hair flittered in front of her face, she looked more like a model than a reporter.

“Why did you write this book?”

I went through my memories, specifically my hatred toward the Union.

Though I couldn’t answer with that.

 I sorted through the prompts that the Colonel had handed me the night before, forcing me to memorize my lies.

“Because I felt like the Union wasn’t being understood. All these rebel forces being able to commit these crimes I understand have faltered the faith in the Union. In my book I reinforce how good a job the Union is doing.

Again the rabble began and a male reporter this time stood up, I didn’t care too much about his looks for he looked like everyone else. Streaked black hair and piercing dark eyes.

He flipped through his book looking for a question, he hadn’t expected to win.

“Was this book based on true stories?”

The book I had written told the stories of several battles between the rebels and the Union, showing the glory and how it helped the cause. No it hadn’t been based on true stories, but I had to lie again. But I couldn’t lie about this.

The Colonel saw my hesitation and took the question.

“Yes, we sent Michael on several missions which he documented and writ beautifully.”

The reporter sat down and it started again.

I thought if I had been took to a real battlefield for experience I would’ve jumped in front of the gun fire in disgust. The fighting was wrong, and I would’ve written the book completely different.

If I had the freedom.

But it’s not as if I’m worst of than the rest.

No one has the freedom.

One reporter stood, he was stockier than the rest, but strikingly handsome.

“Please comment on your mum being a rebel.”

The world had stopped as the full stop was pronounced. My mum?

I hadn’t thought about her for so long, I was too focused on my lies to remember the truth. The Colonel hadn’t brought her up in the prompts, did he forget about her as well? It seems still after two years the media hadn’t. I remembered my dad and his blood stained hands. A tear crept its way along my cheek, glistening in the flashes. The Colonel took this one too.

“As you can see it is not a good memory for him. His own mum being a rebel took its toll. That’s why he is here helping us wipe away the rebel forces by showing them why they must pray for Him.”

The Colonel gave me a sneer as he finished it and I shook my head in anger. The clock beeped and an automated voice told us to clear the room for the next conference. Another routine.

The Colonel took my hand and whispered good job in my ear.

The good thing now is I am no longer held up in my cell. I have my own small house provided by the Union, only a few miles from my hometown.

I am told to be expecting visitors tomorrow.

 Start to think of Sammy and the gift she gave me.

It still needs to be opened.

© Copyright 2019 Aaron Crowley. All rights reserved.


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