The ABC's of Perfect Mistakes

Chapter One: A is for Anthems

There are several things on this planet that are certain. It's certain that the sun will rise in the east, the sky will be blue, pi will always be 3.14 and chocolate is a gift from the gods. Sadly, there always has to be a balance, a bad to the good, death to life and hate to love. Thus the lives of those who live in Haven; the sun did rise in the east, glorious and beautiful but was soon swallowed up by the hungry clouds of gray.

In the Slums, a group of men huddled around a burning trashcan, warming their hands and passing around a bottle of whiskey to warm their empty stomachs. Down the street a woman carried her infant as she made her way to the Water Slums, it was laundry day at her employer's house. A group of kids ran down an alley avoiding the glaring Krimzon Guard. Their red uniforms shone in the gray flittered light and their shiny guns rested on their backs. The men watched the guards walk by, their anger like the burning trashcans. They burned with hatred. At first they were sad, sorrowful that their children were taken away and they couldn't feed their loved ones. Then sadness turned to fear, they locked their doors and refused to go outside. Peaked out through blinds and watched, waited for the Underground to take control of the city like the Shadow promised but nothing happened. They mourned for their freedom, they mourned for their loved ones and they mourned for their city. Soon grief turned into anger, a powerful anger that bubbled and boiled. That heated their insides until everything they touched burned on contact.

One man grabbed a brick from a broken down house, he ran up behind one of the guards and smashed the brick against his head. The helmet dented in and guard dropped to the ground. The man, thin and boney, jumped on the guard and started smashing the brick against his helmet, the brick coming down with the fury of twelve men, crushing the helmet and shattering the glass. The other guard stood staring before he reached for his gun but was stopped by the other men. They shoved him to the ground and ripped his gun from his fingers. The guard, now weaponless, tried to crawl away but the men grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him back. They started kicking him, shouting at him as he tried to cover his head and neck from the men.

A small crowd started to form. Dirty children watched from tops of crates, standing on their tippy-toes watching the beating. Women whispered among each other, eyes hidden behind hands or watching with wide eyes. Some women broke from their ranks, the safety among their friends, to kick the guards. Screaming they stole their husbands or murdered their children.

By now, the guards had stopped moving. The thin old man stood over the first guard. The brick bloody and broken, jagged chunks of stone imbedded in the guard's twisted face; blank white eyes staring at the sky looking for a saviour. The man dropped the brick and broke into threes, he stepped off the guard as the others stepped away from the other guard. He moaned in pain, begging for mercy. The Slummers didn't say anything. The time for mercy was long gone, flew out the window with hope and peace-of-mind. They didn't want to give mercy. If the chicken had a chance to kill the fox, wouldn't he take it? No mercy would be given. Not now, not ever.

One of the men grabbed the whiskey and poured it on the guards. The children jumped off their crates and pushed through the mass of people, elbowing women in their knees and crawling through men's legs. A little girl stepped up to the second guard. He turned his head up to her. She had a fair face, with curling brown hair with a small feather woven into one braid. She was dirty from head to toe, with smears of dirt along her hair-line and gloving her arm. With her foot and kicked the guard, spit in his face and backed into the audience saying, "Dance, fuckers, dance." as the men pushed the burning garbage can onto the whiskey soaked men.

TBC…