A city of Laughter and Tears

The army was on the lookout as justice hid itself among the routing masses.

Equality and brotherhood layed dead as the republic burnt under the oh so glorious light of the Emperor.

One could not contain thoughts but one could massacre every place where they were thought.

Peter and Maxwell charged through tight, dirty corridors of the conquered city, where after 53 days of bravery and sacrifice, the only unshelled place in the city was the theatre that had burnt down before the war, the two men had fought and died for their right to vote and yet as the banner of the three headed eagle had stepped through the third circle of defence, they prioritised their right to breathe and ran deep into the screaming city.

Both still had their rifles gripped tight. Both had spent their entire lives in the city. Both knew there was only one way to see another sunrise. The port. There were Ships that hadn’t taken off yet or were just leaving. On these, Peter knew, mother freedom still loved her sons and caressed her daughters.

Good thing the honourful of the invader was far too busy raping its way through every district: Women, children, art or architecture, whatever could be exploited, abused or simply destroyed for a quick laugh.

400 years of prideful build-up, only to be pissed on by drunken soldiers.

Neither spoke, both muttered, neither cried, both moaned. Sprinting through the city was an exhausting pleasure after visiting a fresh love or to catch the early hours of a favourite club - dashing to not be tortured to death was not even exhausting, just taxing, the deterioration of Peter’s physical condition was not a hindrance but an added fact upon the list of things that predicted his end - and he had never even published his masterpiece, the only, truly important thing in his life before the laughter in the city’s air was replaced by lead.

The green sky cried into the green sea that swept against the grey stone of the huge port. A laughing Maxwell dragged a coughing Peter into his arms - there were still ships and they still took people. Pushing through mothers and fathers and daughters and sons and beggars and soldiers like them, the staying ships became taller and taller and Peter knew that he would fall in love with someone on that ship. Whether it was a man or a woman he did not know, but his heart had already jumped into the refreshing, free sea, where it would kiss and hug whoever he pleased to hug and kiss.

He saw a rifle and a tattered uniform carrying a tattered man and his screams broke through the panic.

“Men of the Republic! The enemy is breaking through and our mother carries us to the sea! But we cannot all go, whoever is strong and capable enough to shoot shall stay behind to defend the leaving ships against the brutish hordes! For a new generation must be raised in the spirit of freedom!”

Peter knew that someone would fall in love on that ship, whether it was a man or a woman he did not know but they were already on the refreshing, free sea, where they would learn to kiss and hug whoever they pleased to hug and kiss, where mother freedom loved her sons and caressed her daughters.

And he held that happy thought with a smile as he aimed upon the hateful soldiers that marched towards the port.