The Rebellion

Open chances. Too many missed shots.

An intense war field. Heads of State rising and falling before the sunrise.

I obviously had to get my life back in track, and to such an intent, there is no better remedy than throwing all the shadows to be smacked down by the big wheels of time, while I ran to anywhere out of radar.

New connections and new directions. Perfect excuses to allow myself moving far out of my way just to misbehave for a night or two, after comfortably steering around the art exhibits.

It was the game I once owned, and I was diving head first into it.

In the height of the autumn, the fall of every leaf marked every single time I fell in love with a complete stranger.

I let them took my love and I, well, tried to keep some of theirs, as a piece to my – yet incomplete – puzzle.

Another winter did not take too long to lay its cold veil above us.

It was unstable times and the deep purple in the skies seemed like an evil presage.

And at the dusky evening I came to discover.

The dead came back to walk among the living; the evil in me had been kept alive.

From slowing dying cinders, it took the form of an undistinguishable walking figure among the living, scrapping plans and sending my newly built views and paradigms to a swirl – or a black hole altogether.

Whether it was the best or the worst of the timings, it is yet to be decided.

The political instability, however, was growing stronger, so I had to head to my refuge, as much before planned, leaving behind the poorly finished situation.

Another road-crossing.

Behind me, the fire deceasing into cinders yet again.

Ahead of me, the environment that brings me safety.

In the middle of a prayer for better days, I turned 26. It was midnight, and I was vanishing from sight, feeling both bemused and awed, but, at the very same time, allowing a soft note of despair and regret give me cold, annoying chills.

At that point, however, it was too late, for it was time to look ahead.

The day dawned and the sun shone – a bit timidly, for it was a cloudy winter day –, and I was feeling uncannily happy and accomplished as I stepped into the second half of my twenties.

Above the clouds, life was feeling once again exciting and there was no single possible way to have a more proper celebration for my birthday.

With the widest smile crafted on my face, I jumped into the arms of the wilderness, and, this time, it was me who became another undistinguishable figure.

Take me in your arms, Vinovia.

Not too long after, the continuous political tension burst into armed conflicts and the bloodiest battles took place.

My Capital District was being taken over by enemy after enemy whilst I did not succeed to conquer any new territory.

At that point, it became conspicuous that my war techniques were wholly out-dated.

Amidst the debris of the once imposing skyscrapers of the city, a counter-movement slowly arose, headed by my own self, to win over the repression of the tyrannous newly installed, nearly fungible Government.

While the troops fought in the countryside and the police haunted the city, my body was found to be the primary, most powerful weapon of rebellion.

Sexuality was the sole strategy.

To the rebels, every lustful encounter at the dusk became an act of protesting, of displaying, to their faces, the naked core of what cannot be taken from us.

And as we reached the biggest momentum, when the thrill skyrocketed to above the stratosphere, much beyond their reach, and we shouted the scream of liberty, we knew it.

They cannot control us.

I then found myself striding among the corpses of those fallen in battle, feeling nothing but fresh, unstoppable and eager to face the darkness, closer each day to defeating the enemy.

Back from safety, it is crystal clear that the Old City, the old status quo, is no longer luring. It simply does not make any more sense – and has not made for longer than I can even conceptualize.

That is how I know the rebellion is not over yet.

Keep fighting.

Keep the wheels spinning.

See you in the next stop.

XX