Shattering
By Jesus Evies
Copyright 2015 Jesus Evies
It was eight o’clock in the morning. And as opposed to the rest of the employees, he was already at his desk; he had even arrived much earlier than he was supposed to. In his mind, memories from the last few days sprang out. Exasperation emerged. Sweat ran down onto his tensed forehead.
Some coworkers stepped into the mezzanine. Their verbiage annoyed him considerably. When they noticed his presence, they pulled up a chair as an inviting gesture. However, he walked away. Their cackles were heard in the background.
A fair-skin man stepped in, holding a folder. He smiled at everyone before heading toward a small lounge, equipped with a kitchen and fridge. Once there, he found an obfuscated middle-aged man who was helping himself a hot cup of coffee.
“Some liquid courage before jumping into the circus, Pete” The guy placed the folder on the counter, and grabbed a biscuit from a straw basket.
Pete swallowed in one gulp. “I think I’m not up to it anymore.”
“Community duties are not for everyone,” The man yawned, “But it’s the easiest thing to do. It merely requires to shout the correct words to make them all thrill.”
Pete approached. His steps were sort of clumsy and even peeked over the man’s shoulder. “History will condemn us, Donald.” He whispered.
“Again with those regrets.”
“You don’t care what we’re doing to the people.”
“They’re not the people.” Donald approached, “We are the people.”
Donald threw the biscuit into the waste container. “I know you, Pete. Since we were at St. Mary, I could easily tell when you were over the edge.” He looked down, breathed in heavily, “We didn’t ask for this. But now we need it. It’s the only thing we can hold on to avoid what others suffer.”
“We should’ve acted, done our duty… be responsible to our oath.”
“What are you suggesting?”
Pete shook his head, “Now, it’s too late.” His eyes were lost in empty space.
“Maybe,” He staggered.
Pete stared at his longtime friend, who after an irksome pause, gripped a mug, poured coffee in it, and swilled frantically.
“Last night, my baby asked me why her best friend’s mother couldn’t get her medication before she died.” Said Donald as he careened on the counter. And though he looked stern, his voice broke slightly, “And I just answered her as I’ve repeatedly done it.” He clenched his fist, “And she utterly bought it. Just playing… fooling around with her innocence was enough, so easy. Then her eyes gleamed, and asserted that I was smart. You see… My Carol was proud of her daddy.” He mumbled. “Yep, I’m too smart.”
Without reply nor remark, Pete walked out of the room with the mere knowledge that even though there was still acumen in his friend, the courage to act was entitled to few.
“I went to his office to streamline the foreign exchange.” A riffraff was bragging. The party had increased. They were now a complete gang. Hence, some of them didn’t even have the appearance of functionaries of any sort embedded in the state – though it was widely known about the poor education a regular official possessed, those ones were akin to lickerish crooks.
The seemingly senior avouched, “Wasting time. I only have to phone that little rascal,” He leaned forward, “And I’ve got it.” He said at the moment he snapped his fingers. His vile grin aroused the others. “Even when I wanna make a trip, I leave one of my guys do the paperwork.”
Another lowlife didn’t want to be outdone, “Next time I will ask for one of the last fleet that just in. They come with softer leather seats. It’s so comfortable!”
They laughed loudly until the most swine barked on the phone, “Yeah, it’s all set. That poor bastard’s gotta get his goods back as soon as he shells out.”
The other comrades remained undisturbed.
When he hanged up the phone, an opportunist stepped in, “That’s the job you were telling me about yesterday, uh?
He nodded, “My dough this time is bigger.” His lexicon underlined his squalid origin.
“Did you coordinate the paying?”
“Hell yeah! And make sure the pigs stay away from my zone.”
“Right on. They get so greedy, always wanting to have a part from our business.”
Pete snarled, he couldn’t ward off hearing them. The back of his neck swelled, and the bones of his fingers snapped. Donald approached, and swung his arm across Pete’s back, “Let’s go out. Just let me input the new recruiters into the system.” He headed to the cubicles.
Shuffling among the papers on his desk drawer, Pete lifted up a stack clipping many sheets – old speeches that boosted the flag-waving and fooled millions of souls. The trash could welcome them gladly.
Something stuck at the bottom of the drawer blocked the locker. Stretching his hand to sweep it on, he collected a brown paperback that his son had given him the previous night. He had eyed few pages which stirred him, but due to its content plus the lousy and unbearable workday, he was unable to delve into it any further.
On the cover, the words: Gray State highlighted in electric blue letters. Turning on the pages, his fingers bumped into the bookmarker. He peered at one excerpt, “Stubbornly they fought their way back to the hill. Conquering it was their scope, and perseverance was the emblem on their flag.”
Donald hurried to write some data into his personal netbook. Off and on, he glanced at the screen just to grasp Pete’s uneasy face. He went over his daily schedule, and boarded him afterward, “Let’s walk you downstairs.”
In the elevator, both men stood straight, only Pete’s chin were somewhat down. “This’ll sound unnecessary.” Donald said. He bowed his head so as to try to hook up his friend’s eyes, “You have hosted others before, but I advise you to give it a serious thought. We’re surviving.”
The door slid open. Pete stepped out, and veered backwards, “We’re not surviving. We’re hiding.”
The bus stop was just crossing the street. And as usual, the public transportation delayed. Some comments from passerby quenched him. Their compliance to regard life status didn’t compare to others citizens worldwide.
In the metro-bus, trivia and urban curiosities didn’t overshadow the official broadcasting.
“They’re just nurturing the decaying of our society.” Pete reckoned.
When he arrived at the auditorium, there were still a lot of people making their way in, struggling to have a seat. He trudged below the facility through a wide corridor where music stars had paraded a while ago, wondering fans with their performances. On his way, diverse types of fawners, ones for conviction and others for more than bare affinity, eagerly shook his hand.
He rested his bones on a big sofa. Outside, the audience roared for showtime. The official promoter had foreseen it; and thereupon, had arranged a proper entertainment, courtesy of the treasury. Meanwhile, Pete’s thoughts were in a maze made of mud where the exit loomed clearly, but the outcome looked appalling.
After the charade from a very popular and moneyed musician, the members of the party were called to step forward. The spotlights followed them to the VIP seats as Pete probed the scenario.
Up in the center, the presidential box glowed. All high rank personalities occupied the front row. Exotic snacks and expensive beverages, which radically differentiated from the ones given to the spectators, were gorged by each party individual. Flanked by the vice-president on the right and the chancellor on the left, the president smiled greatly. He and his comrades didn’t waste a second to show off about the trips, parties, and unquestionably the uncountable events they had assisted plus the dames that they hooked up.
Noise spread throughout the entire crowded theater. A couple o
f thudding hits on the mic attached to the official podium on the left side of the platform called everyone’s attention. The announcer cleared his throat.
“Greetings, my fellow citizens!” The announcer’s lips drew an exaggerated smile. “Today we are blessed to have among us a prominent example of strength and determination. Someone that really has contributed so much to our revolutionary cause.”
A name appeared on the teleprompter screen.
“Without further ado,” Drums raised, accompanying announcer’s words. “Let’s welcome our special guest.” The searchlights began moving along the first row. “I’ll give you Mr. Andrews.” The broadcaster stressed.
Pete hesitated. He looked to his right. The nearest exit looked so tempting. But all the eyes were already on him.
The orchestra intensified which shrank his ears. With the help of his arms, he stood up and started motioned to the big shining platform. A thudding applaud followed, rhyming his steps.
Sweat ran down on