The New World

         My love for you is more than I can sometimes bear... My pen kept some fluid motion within me, and I rose and walked to the window. There was pain deep within me, as if my very core was an open sore...and my pen kept writing. I looked more at the glass than through the glass, but I didn’t realize until I heard a rapping at my door. Like most disruptions in the recent days, I was hesitant to answer, for the fear of disappointment if the caller wasn’t her.

         “Winston, it’s Barnes!” I heard faintly, but enough that I heard. I wanted to ignore, but for a reason I hadn’t yet known, I felt curiously inclined to answer.

         I covered the space in my small studio apartment in less than a few seconds, and I walked down the long, narrow, gray stairwell that met a thick metal door on the bottom.

         I used both arms and my body to slide the door ajar.

         “Winston!”

         His open arms and genuine elation at the sight of me felt almost foreign. I hadn’t wanted to be happy in such a long time that such a thing had begun to make me a contented miserable.

         Truly, it is love for you that has sustained me...how will I go on?

         The pen stopped writing, tipped over, and crashed to the page without much of a sound, then rolled hastily, and fell to the floor.

         Barnes barged in and embraced me with a hug well before being even subliminally invited. Barnes was my friend because we both knew he was.

         “I have a feeling Winston, that this moment is history in the making!” Barnes spoke as he tugged at the heavy door to shut us inside, and I made my way up the steps. He continued talking after he realized I wasn’t going to take the bait. “The Royal Court has made quite an interesting request, Winston, They asked for you personally to interview ‘His Presidency’ and write an essay concerning his views on the state of current affairs.”

         I stepped over to my miniature cooling box and fetched a large bottle of fine vodka, the only luxury I would accept to myself. I took a long drink and passed the bottle in Barnes’ direction. He raised a palm in rejection, so I drank some more.

         “Needless to say,” Barnes continued, with concern now a warm undertone to his voice. “This one project, if done correctly, will define our world, and the times as we know them, not to mention, if done correctly, will find you much favor in the eyes of the high charge, which is obviously something you have begun to do already.”

         I sat on my bed, reached over and retrieved my pencil from the floor. The words replayed in my head ‘she’s the President’s niece.’ I smiled before I looked at Barnes and said: “I’ll do it, of course.”

         The Imperial Presidential High Commander spoke as a self righteous, power mongering spin doctor, and it was my every intention to paint the portrait exactly as such. My pen glided over the page at home, finishing the piece as I pretended to take notes on his boring, propaganda rhetoric.

         “As the high officer of this nation, I am charged with the responsibility of protecting every one of my humble constituents. I hold no regard to any one’s racial inferiority...what nigger would choose to be so given the opportunity to choose?”

Incessant cretin chatter.

He invited me to dinner, more obligatory than favor, he began  to look at me through the sides of his eyes when he started to realize I must’ve not been listening very well, but he tried hard to allow me the benefit of the doubt, given my reputation.

I saw her for the first time in fifty-four days at the table, and she noticed me, but turned away ever so quickly. My heart hurt at the fact that she made no attempt to acknowledge my presence. I noticed she looked preoccupied. I studied her face through the duration of the night, and I read a sort of hesitant sorrow, as if she was regretting something she hadn’t yet done, but was planning to do and enjoy immensely. She glanced at me several times before dinner was served, and made a great effort to ignore me after that, and I know because I made no reservation to staring at her all night.

I excused myself before dessert was served, for the second time that night, and I heard her do the same as soon as I was outside the dining room door. Purely on instinct I walked to the door to the courtyard, and stood outside breathing fresh air

“You haven’t lost your knack for making friends in high places, I see.” Her voice is a sound I’ve learned to relish forever.

I turned almost fast enough to spin around twice, and I stepped as close to her as what felt appropriate at the moment.

         “And your cunning remains second only to your beauty...”

         She smiled, looked down to the ground and then into my eyes. I reached out only my arms and pulled her to me with such speed and force she had no chance to tell me whether it was a safe idea. I didn’t care, I pressed my lips against hers, and after a brief moment she squeezed me, and touched my lips just barely with tip of her tongue, and as fast as I pulled her to me, she yanked herself away and rushed back inside without looking back. Meanwhile, a revolutionary spy was making his way to the mansion, and a gun I had planted sometime during the course of the night.