Diary of a Revolution

Disclaimer: This is an original work of pure fiction. Any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, is purely coincidental.   Originally printed 19 May 2016 by K.S. Wood on her now defunct Short Stories blog.  Should you wish to reprint this, please ask for permission.

Another post-apocalyptic story I started with an idea that went nowhere. This was a dream I had, but i couldn’t get the details down correctly so I just have the journal entry – I don’t even have a name for the narrator. As I stated in the disclaimer above, I originally posted this on a blog called Short Stories, but want all of my works in one place now, so I am moving all of my stories here.

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13 July 2109

I write this to you with a heavy heart.

The rebellion has failed in its infancy.

My friends are gone.

Fish, so tall and playful and noble, was tortured before he was executed. I can still hear his screams and the taunts of the soldiers.

Gideon, considered the brains behind the insurrection and second in command by many of the tyrants, was killed and his body was mutilated and hung on the castle walls.

Chips and Jocky were shot to death as they clung to each other, both barely even old enough to shave. They were taunted for the tears that streamed down their faces as they faced their execution.

KaChoo went to her death with a somber face, her pink and black locks hanging about her shoulders in waves, instead of their usual plaits. Her radiant smile was replaced by a serene look. There were rumors that she died screaming, but I did not hear any of her screams from my cell.

20 other young men and women were also systematically executed in the castle yard with them.

Our leader, Winchester, was not killed. Those in power insisted it was because they wanted to flush out the rebellion and any that might remain by allowing them to try to release him from prison, but I know the real reason why. It is because they are afraid of him.

To kill him would be to unleash their own undoing.

My sister, Rhea, and I were spared by the grace of our father’s name. He was Jonas Pippin, the great writer who was executed for his ideas some 20 years ago by the monarchy who once ruled the land. It was his ideas that enabled the current dictatorship to come to power as a democracy. Little did the people know that the democracy that was so empowered by the ideas my father wrote down would soon become a dictatorship under one man.

It was a wise man who once wrote that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely, and that is the case with our tyrant.

I dare only write at night, afraid that those who guard us will find my diary and discover that I too have become like my father, a radical with ideas of her own. During the daytime, this simple pad of paper and pen hide within the hem of my cloak. Not even my own sister knows it is there. I do not wish her to be tortured if this is found, so even she is forbidden from knowing where it is.

I want these events to be remembered.

Click here to read more of my short stories…..

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