Unsheathing my weapon, I sharpen it to a lethal point. Concealed beneath the squalor of an apocalyptic sky, I charge the front lines with calculated strokes, stripping my adversary of integrity. Years of practice have shaped my craft and refined my skill so that I hit my mark but draw no blood.
“Hide that before they kill us all,” Sara says, yanking my weapon from my hand. She fumbles with the safe under the floor and conceals it with what little ammunition remains in our possession.
“How can we subdue their terror if we don’t fight back?” I ask, catching her hand. She is my sister, my dearest friend, but she’s afraid and easily swayed. “There is nothing left so we must rebuild what has been destroyed before they destroy us too. This is the only solution, the only way to win this war. Let me at least try. They may kill me but not before I lay the seeds of revolution.”
Each beep of the passcode sends a shiver down my spine and I tremble as the safe clicks open. Can they hear? Are they watching? Have they been waiting for this very moment, about to barge in and drag us away, wiping our minds of inventive thought?
Wielding my device one last time, my sister scans the dark street bellow our loft, nodding for me to continue. Swallowing hard, I set my attack in motion, slicing with articulated precision. When I am finished, I hand Sara the graphite blade which she silently stows away. Bringing the paper to the light, my words penetrate the darkness with their pungent power.
This is the age of a hidden craft practiced in the night, of ideas so dangerous they can kill; and kill, they will. Tonight, we’ll penetrate their defences and smite the enemy with our poison. This war that wages in our minds—subtle yet deadly—will not be lost to my kind.
We are the poets, the writers, the creatives, intellects, dreamers and believers. Our tools of creativity have been hunted, incinerated and made illegal. Even our thoughts aren’t safe from annihilation. They may seek to destroy our hopes and imaginations but they cannot—will not—starve our souls.
The year is 2034 and we are a persecuted people. Armed with passion, we’ll rally the lost, defy this tyranny and rise again.
Thank you for reading this brief creative piece. I hope you enjoyed it!
As always, thank you and God bless!
—VanessaMarieCaron
Vanessa Marie Caron, Author 