05-08-2013, 11:17 PM
The blazing sun was far above the horizon. It was shining upon a semi-barren world with thousands of small colonies scattered around on the surface. The boy was standing in the middle of a road, a quite wide one, probably a main road of the settlement. He stood there doing nothing but looking around, observing his environment, the people around him. Faceless mob was moving around, slowing down step by step and starting to pay attention once the speakers throughout the town started to speak. He tried to listen to the incomprehensible speech, and although he failed to understand anything, he knew what the message was all about. He just knew. This whole scene was strange and familiar for him at the same time. Emotions ran through him while listening, excitement, joy, maybe a little spark of hope.
The scene changed quickly in a whirlwind around the young man, and a new one appeared in front of his eyes. Without having any time to realize what is happening, he was already crouching, hiding in an alley coming out of the previous road. Hiding from the events that has been happening there.
The once faceless mob has gathered into a massive crowd on one side of the road, while on the other side there were a few, dressed fancily, and with guns in hands. Some of them even dressed in metallic exosuits, or something similar to that. He felt hatred towards them, an artificial kind of hatred, which he has been taught. He also felt fear as he did not know much about them. Those in fancy posed as superior to the mob, acted like that, to which the mob responded angrily. Tensions have risen up between the parties, and then one of the arrogants stepped forward, a fat one with only a sidearm and a quite repulsive-looking face. Somehow he was one of the few actually having a face in this whole scene. Being confident about his authoritarian power, he grabbed one out of the mob, a woman. She was pretty despite her being in her middle ages. The fat kneeled her and put his gun to her head to further brag about the power he possess over the rest. The women was crying desperately and the boy felt emotions running through him in such an amount he won't be able to control for long. Love, fear, nervousness... hatred... and then...
The scene changed quickly in a whirlwind around the young man, and a new one appeared in front of his eyes. Without having any time to realize what is happening, he was already crouching, hiding in an alley coming out of the previous road. Hiding from the events that has been happening there.
The once faceless mob has gathered into a massive crowd on one side of the road, while on the other side there were a few, dressed fancily, and with guns in hands. Some of them even dressed in metallic exosuits, or something similar to that. He felt hatred towards them, an artificial kind of hatred, which he has been taught. He also felt fear as he did not know much about them. Those in fancy posed as superior to the mob, acted like that, to which the mob responded angrily. Tensions have risen up between the parties, and then one of the arrogants stepped forward, a fat one with only a sidearm and a quite repulsive-looking face. Somehow he was one of the few actually having a face in this whole scene. Being confident about his authoritarian power, he grabbed one out of the mob, a woman. She was pretty despite her being in her middle ages. The fat kneeled her and put his gun to her head to further brag about the power he possess over the rest. The women was crying desperately and the boy felt emotions running through him in such an amount he won't be able to control for long. Love, fear, nervousness... hatred... and then...
*Boom!*
Pierre sat up from his bed quickly, his forehead bathing in sweat and his heart beating like he had just ran a hundred meter sprint. After realizing that the whole was just a dream, and it is actually 01.34 at night, he slowly calmed down and laid back, but he couldn't fall back asleep. His thoughts grabbed this nightmare and didn't let him alone. But was it really a nightmare? Non. I remember now.
His dream was not really a dream, more of a memory, a sad memory from his past. He was born in 710 AGS in Rennes-les-Bains Mining Colony on Quillan, in the Languedoc system, and has grown up there. It was during his young life to what contemporary historians refer to as the begining of the Second Gallic Civil War. The Council of Free Gallia, or in short The Council has began to liberate the Gallic Border Worlds one by one, starting from Champagne and Lorraine, and going towards Languedoc.
When they began to seize Languedoc, Pierre was already eighteen years old, but still in his rebellious period of life. By this time he understood what he didn't when he was younger: the relations between the local civilian population and the "peacekeeping" police forces... and the reason behind it. And of course he refused to accept the oppressing nature of the royalists, but alone he could do nothing. Only hope like the rest, that the Council will succeed.
Over time it seemed their hopes will become reality. News about the advancement of the revolutionists became frequent. Just like on that day in 730 AGS. Somebody probably hacked the radio station as such transmissions were forbidden and been considered treasonous by the forces of the King. The news about the Council's success at seizing the nearby Nimes station could be heard at least colony-wide, if not globally. People walking on the streets stopped to listen and burst out in joy, thinking that their salvation is near. Either the transmission or the people's reaction to it - or maybe both - has angered the royalists. Quillan HQ of the Royal Police has sent Officer Arnaud Herriot, who was responsible for that part of the planet at that time. A short, fat, arrogant man with a minority complex he intended to compensate with excessive practice of his already overpowering authority. Of course, who else to put in charge of a police squadron to deal with the local mob? He and his armed men confronted the citizens of Rennes-les-Bains on the main road, teased them to a point where he grabbed a woman out of the first line of the crowd. Anne Etoile. Loving wife of Thierry LaFlamme, caring mother of two sons, Pierre and Robert LaFlamme. And she had to die that day. She was shot in the head without mercy, and her body fell to the ground, laying there motionless afterwards.
A teardrop makes its way down slowly from his eye to his chin and then the pillow he was resting her head on. He turns to his side.
The tensions were already huge between the two sides when he pulled the trigger. Killing her was just oil to the fire. Pierre does not remember fully the following seconds, but it's been told to him that he immediately rushed towards the officer. Some said he was infuriated, but for sure he would be dead if a hand wouldn't have grabbed him and dragged him into the crowd. What he most probably felt then - and after it - was not the same kind of hatred as before. It was true now, true hatred and true wish for revenge. Meanwhile - to the surprise of the royalists - somebody shot the officer in the chest and flaming bottles began seeking their victims among the police forces. One hit a policeman in a combat armor, bursting him into flames quickly, another flaming up two others. Suddenly more and more guns appeared from the crown, and within minutes, the authoritarian forces were decimated. The riot ended with the burning of the police office in town.
The next day a combined group of rioters assaulted the global headquarters of the Royal Police, resulting in a failure on the attacking side. A few days later the Council forces has arrived. The rest is history. The Council took the planet, later Montpellier, just to break through the minefield later.
On that day the citizens of Rennes-les-Bains have won. On that day, among the many, a mother died, and a brother has been lost. Yes, Robert went missing among the chaos and has never been seen since then. But who could have predicted this all?
Who could have thought that good news can lead to death? Who could have thought that some would do literally anything to keep his power at all costs? Et who could have predicted, that even then, he would fail et die as weak as strong he thought he is? Nobody. Both of the death of ma mere et that bâtard were the unforeseen consequences of his overconfidence et his hunger for power. Et all for nothing. If only she could live...