Saturday, March 23, 2013

Musical Inspirations: The Voice Finale - Address



This is the final chapter of this miniseries. To avoid ruining the buildup from reading the previous parts, the first part can be found here:

http://odinsmusings.blogspot.com/2013/02/musical-inspirations-voice-part-1.html

      The clouds cast an admonishing shadow over the City Square. It was the first time he called for an Assembly in the rain. The State could control much, but they still could not control the weather.

      He could not quell the shaking in his hands. He knew he was being watched by more than just the audience. But he forced himself to continue. He only had his power for a short while longer, and for once in his life, he had to do what he felt was right, not what he was told was right.

“Citizens of the State,” He began, he forced a wave of practiced calm down his throat. “I come to you not as The Voice of the People, but as a man whose eyes have been opened.”

Lightning crackled in the sky as people exchanged glances, observing the queer presentation before them.

“I have realized today, that I cannot be the Voice of the People, for I have not heard the people. I cannot be someone who speaks on behalf of someone else’s experience.

“Experience is the language that guides us, forces us to live, helps us seek truth. Truth of this chaotic reality can only be discovered if we are willing to question what we see. No one else can tell you how to feel, what to see, what to hear. You must take hold, feel, experience, and decide for yourself. Learn from your actions, from others’ reactions. Take heed into every source of information, and simply ask yourself: ‘Why?’

“Why is it in our best interest to seek shelter in a world where suffering is permitted just outside the boundaries? What is it that makes these people fight so hard? We can no longer allow ourselves to be fed misguidance, to turn a blind eye upon those who seek knowledge, to know the truth above all.

“We can no longer sit idly by and watch as the world passes without us, as others choose how we are to live, to act, to breathe. Now we must live, exist, struggle…”

His eyes widened as his words were interrupted. He was jerked forward as a surge of pain scattered along his spine. He felt blood trickle down the back of his neck as he tried in vain to steady himself on the podium. The skies opened up, a gentle barrage of water caressed his face.

No, not now, he thought. He still had so much to say, so much to learn.

He tried to force the words out of his lungs, but his body refused, stifling a choking cough, blood dripping from his lips. He stood his ground, straining at every bit of his strength to keep his knees locked, leaning heavily onto the pedestal. He had to finish what he started. He heard the questioning clamor of the crowd as he stood frozen in time.

An eternity passed, the rain washed over him, murmuring nonsense inside of his ears. Each drop a memory, a new question. A sea of eyes staring back at him, eager to be told what to think next.

His lungs burning, his jaw aching, quivering, straining with his efforts, yet he forced the syllables out of his mouth:

“Question….”

        Another explosion of pain erupted through his heart, another shot fired.

       “…..Everything.”

His grip weakened, and he slid to his knees, resting his weary head against the cool, black marble, his labored breath condensing into tiny droplets over the smooth surface.

What would become of my actions, his mind started racing. Would anyone have listened, understood? Or would I merely be erased like the countless others before, he thought. Have I gone insane?

He gathered the strength to turn himself around to face his attacker, sliding down with his back until he slumped into a shattered heap on the ground. Glistening trails of crimson streaked along the pedestal as he rested on the polished balcony floor.

The imposing visage of a Rehabilitator Controller stood over him, face hidden behind a shiny black armored mask, completely featureless, soulless.

What have I done, Adam thought as he stared into the murky gaze of the enforcer. He didn’t know what would happen to him next, but he wasn’t sure he cared either. He gave the policeman an eerie defiant smile, welcoming him to do whatever he wished.

Adam closed his eyes as he let his strength drain with his blood now pooling in the concrete, swirling with the rain. The last thing he heard is a puff of smoke, then felt his body being carried off, hefted onto the shoulder of the Rehabilitator.

*****
The finale of The Voice. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. I would like to hear your thoughts on interpretation, I want to know how I have impacted the reader.

Read Part 1 here:

Prepare for a little of Declan's anger next week.

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