Wherever she went, whatever she was doing Isha thought about Hitori.
Seeing his body covered with blood was heartbreaking. He was too fragile to carry the weight of such heavy cross upon his shoulders ready to break apart at any time.
By dint of willing to protect everyone, with boundless self abnegate generosity, he offered himself as a sacrifice for world’s sake. Almost religious his infallible honesty had never known any misdemeanour, since that day.
That day occurred five years ago in the middle of July.
Since dawn the President’s investiture speech rebroadcast had replaced everything else from the official radio that usually displayed classic music, news and literary programs between 6 and 10 in the morning.
The sun had risen up but outside a dead silence weighted down the atmosphere. Birds had given up on singing. Footsteps were shifty. Cars went down the city slowly.
All that echoed everywhere was the rough voice of the President and the slaunch applauses of his followers.
Hitori and Isha had spent the night together, for the last time. Isha knew so well she had to move on as well as her parents, not to be arrested by the men dressed in black.
Hitori lightened her against his chest trying to be reassuring and comforting. Any of them knew what future, what ‘new world” awaited mankind at the end of the road.
- Let me go, Isha whispered picking up her favourite dress that looked like a cherry blossom
She dressed up and looked by the window at her dear city of origin. She has been brought up there, made there her closest friends, fell in love at first sight with Hitori along that street sat on that bench. She didn’t want to move on so soon, just because a fool had just been elected as the head of the country the day before.
He was the President. She was Isha.
He said he could easily blow away any opponent to his regime. She was afraid.
He said resisting to the regime was useless. She was revolted.
He said a new world was coming. She was a political refugee from now on.
They forced her to talk, they drove her in a corner but still she endured. She didn’t know where her parents had gone to, she knew anything about the medicine.
Hitori was held prisoner, arms outstretched, at gunpoint.
Shocked he couldn’t talk and even less make a single move.
Isha was their prey but he could only watch.
He blushed of shame in a fit of anger against himself, against his helplessness.
He loved her so deeply, so sincerely thus why? Why was he not fighting at her side against those beasts that tormented her?
The disappointment in her eyes killed him from the inside as though it was daggers
He wanted to cry, he wanted to shout. No words could have described how he felt so ashamed.
It was the last time they see each other until the trial, thirty days later.
One could say it was a parody of trial; forces were way too unequal between the accusation and the accused: lawyers were under the accusation’s heel.
The courthouse was almost empty. A bribed judge, mock lawyers, Isha, her parents and a few interested Official people were the protagonists.
Hitori tied back his hair in a ponytail. He couldn’t fail once more. It was a matter of dignity.
As a man he couldn’t put his own safety before Isha’s life when Isha was enduring the worst torment because of his helpless cowardice.
Headphones put on listening to latest news he made secure his crash helmet. A gun was hanging at his belt.
Fate had offered him a second go to prove to Isha the sincerity of his love for her.
Isha was afraid about the outcome of the trial: she could no longer handle the fear and the loneliness of those days spared in jail isolated in the security quarter.
Her mother tried to be reassuring:
- Don’t be afraid things will go fine as long as they have an interest about the medicine we have created. If they want to achieve the recipe they shouldn’t kill us. At least it’s our last hope to work out a fair deal with them.
- Be unfair and unfaithful is their law. It’s thoughtless to think about making a contract with them.
- How else should we act?
- Darling we should wait, Isha’s father intervened. I’m sure there is still a chance for us to get out of that mess alive and safe.
- Should wait for what or who? No need to remind you we’re not in a position that allows us to trust on never coming miracles and/or dreamt guardian angels.
- I’m talking about a strength that only a few ones gain once in a lifetime, that smash every doubt, every fear to pieces, that gives us life, that light our resolve to the strongest flame, the power of people: a strength whose first name is love.
It was unexpected Isha was surprised to hear those words from her father.
It felt like he was not the one talking.
He looked mysteriously at the main door: has he planned on something great to happen?
Before the doorman had unlocked the gate, the guest announced his arrival himself.
Hitori in flesh and blood stood in the threshold armed with a gun.
The judge ordered him to retreat but Hitori walked to the accused bench instead.
He threw away his weapon. Face down he bowed humbly to Isha offering his neck in sacrifice to her anger and her resentment.
- I present you my deepest, my most sincere apologies. I won’t even dare to ask for your forgiveness. A coward doesn’t deserve your love, does he?
Voiceless in shock Isha squeezed firmly her head. Deep was a word way too weak to describe how strong and respectful were Hitori’s feelings towards her.
Eyes down he raised a hand at his heart with solemnity:
- I swear to protect you until death do us part at my own risk in the name of our love.
My oath belongs to you before everyone else but not only, also the cause of those who had vowed their life to freedom and equity although they are persecuted.
The eyes of law witnessed the scene. Even the most cold hearted were moved by such a proof of uprightness and loyalty.
However necessity was at the root of law. The trial was still going on.
The hands of coercition seized Hitori and pulled him outside. He could not fight.
When it comes to fists, he could only submit unable to lay a hand on anybody.
He believed in words. He believed in mankind.
July 15th, 2040:
And now he layed in his own blood half dead.
How was such a self-denial possible?
By dint of denying his weaknesses, Hitori was too self-confident: what about the nature of their relationship? He was human and wished to become a hero but was it really what Isha desired? He was her knight, she was his princess: she was always worried about him, about how he could lose his life at every turn because of his foolhardiness.
Judging by his personality Isha stated Alys must kept the secret at any cost. He was going to be the first to die if he faced head on the troopers once more. He was going to experience unfathomable despair and remorse if he knew she ought her successful career to her position of mandated healer that granted her opportunities to restart everything from scratch by becoming an Official subordinate to the government himself.
That way her parents were better treated, Hitori’s life wasn’t in danger for now at least.
July 17th, 2050:
Moto Rorola stayed by the bedside of Sempai.
His state had gotten worse. He shouldn’t have awakened so soon.
She placed him back to bed, applying a cold pack on his forehead.
His wounds seemed reopened even if he had recovered faster than usual.
She thought about the “Shovel of Death”. It should have never been created; it caused only pain and sadness, guiltiness and regret, injustice and wars.
At the United Countries Committee the order of the day was all about the status of Society.
After hearing Ashley’s report the ambassadors, members of the committee, became aware of the situation. It couldn’t have gotten even worse.
As to know if the threatening of another Traumatism was near, they should act wisely. The first had almost destroyed entirely the world the second would smash life to ashes.
Indeed they were aware “the President” had still dangerous and apocalyptic tricks in his pocket. If so, how to negociate unless declaring war to his regime, a war that might become endless and exhaust mankind as well as Mother Earth herself?
Ashley’s report mentioned time travelling. It was an alternative but somehow it bothered the diplomats: defusing the “Shovel of Death” was something, but modifying the past didn’t mean necessarily the future would come out better.
Politicians had failed at that time it was undeniable, now they could only look back at their failures, accept their responsibilities and make sure not to reproduce the same mistakes.
For now it appeared clear that the fact the President had implicitely taken the leader of the opposition son of the late Prime minister in hostage had brought things to a head.
It could be counted in hours before he followed through his threats.
The countdown had already started.