C13 10. Crumbled World

The estuary of the Clyde River greeted us with bad weather and gloomy scenery. The sea was rough, gray waves lapping against the bay, the wind and rocks splashing the water.

We got out of the car and stood behind a cluster of chairs, reporters’ cameras, and the pedestal on which the president was giving his official speech.

I didn’t listen to what the head of the country was saying, I wasn’t interested at all, my heart was stifled by a sense of humility and acceptance. Hope was burning out, turning to ash. I was too pained to keep hoping, because deep down I knew that the inevitable would happen.

Once again, we heard liquid clapping from the invitees and a flock of journalists. The advertising logos were full of company names, all of them pro-political, supporting the current government.

I recalled when my history teacher, who was probably the only person who cared about the future of the country, once brought up the topic of changes in the state hierarchy of Unica.

“Political scientists at Metropolitan University recently conducted a study in which they concluded that the structure of our country has shifted from a conventional constitutional state to a presidential monarchy...”

At the time I did not understand the meaning of these words, the lengthy definition passed me by, I was looking at a fly that tried endlessly to make its way through the window pane to the true blue sky.

“The presidential monarchy is a typical constitutional form of social contract in non-emancipated societies. In other words, it is peculiar to those societies in which personalized small-group relations prevail. Usually in this relationship people fear each other (those who are not members of their small group) and therefore trust political power more than they trust each other. As a rule, in such societies individual activity, especially economic activity, is disapproved of at the moral level and is brutally controlled or persecuted at the political level...”

At that time I thought all of the above was nonsense. I did not realize then that in the age of technomagic and high progress, people have become so unaccustomed to communicating and exchanging their cultural, social, and economic interests that when the hour of the ‘Great Bad Changes’ comes, no one will be able to unite and go against the government’s decision.

Yes, I was now well aware that our country was a presidential monarchy. It so happened that one man, Rizor Cirkul, and his clan of henchmen had taken over all the other parties and all the more or less important state institutions. And at this moment he not only ruled, but he reigned. Long live our president, let him live and rejoice.

Somewhere in another galaxy.

The Virtul’s satellites hovered three hundred feet above the surface of the sea. My breath hitched as I gazed around the dark dots in the distance.

A small part of my heart trembled with optimism, filled with desire that the inevitable would not come, that the law would be repealed, that reason would reign in the minds of our politicians and that they would not make the worst mistake in the world.

“We’re ready, Mr. President,” a secretary man in narrow glasses with white lenses came up to Cirkul.

“Then go ahead.”

The huge cannons, brought specially for the occasion from military ranges, fired a volley. Almost after that, the second, third salvo. Above the glittering sea, fireworks burst forth, painting the heavy slate sky with bright, vibrant colors.

And I stood in silence and watched as my world crumbled, as the satellites exploded near the ground, as terabytes of my life, my memories, my soul, sank into the depths of the sea.

“The servers have also been destroyed,” the secretary got the report over the phone and announced it out loud.

The president, and then the crowd clapped, burying with applause the greatest game of mankind.

I fell to my knees, all the strength gone from my legs. Grasped the ground with my fingers, trying to find my balance. The tears preventing me from seeing clearly.

“Why?” I couldn’t hold back a sob.

I wanted to laugh.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to ask the sky for death.

The guy next to me cursed loudly and pounded his fist into the hood of the jeep. I looked up at him with tears in my eyes. Grant’s face didn’t look pretty right now, rage and anger was written on it.

I exhaled silently. There was a person beside me who was suffering from the same thing. It made me feel a little better to know that I wasn’t the only one who had been driven into an abyss of despair by the closure of Virtul.

“The president ordered to escort you as soon as the performance is over,” the bodyguard prudently opened the door, while the other five men surrounded us in a circle, making it impossible to escape.

Grant Cirkul glared at the black-suited guards with a hateful look, but still got into the car. I looked back one last time at the sea, where the remains of the virtual world were ablaze.

That’s all.

Goodbye, Di, my bright daughter-NPC of indeterminate race. Goodbye, Krile, my only beloved non-living husband.

Goodbye, Virtul.

Farewell.