A Cold Day in October

People depend on systems. Of course, no one ever takes notice of the systems. Most people deny their very existence. I guess that's why no one noticed when the system began to break down.

Looking back, the signs are all there, the propaganda, the censorship incidents, but I guess we all have 20/20 hindsight. We pay for our ignorance with freedom. I still remember the day it all come crashing down. It was a chilly October Thursday, October 24, to be exact.

I had just gotten back to the dorm from a less-than-exciting modern history class. The teacher had let us out early to watch some presidential address on the war in some backwash country whose name I couldn't pronounce. It was just another pet war, really, no one cared all that much. Except, of course, my modern history teacher, who wanted a 600 word essay on it the next day. So I switched on the tube, and went to get a glass of water. The monotone voice of the president drifted into the kitchen, sullen and uninvolved.


But the president's voice was cut by commotion and shouting. Then by a gunshot.


I remember it was a cold day when the world ended. Across the globe there were riots and terrorism. The new's programs only lasted for an hour after the shot, just long enough to report the president's death, and a hostile takeover of the government. Not long after that the phones went. Then the bank accounts. And finally, power altogether.

Everything broke down after that. People didn't even bother to packed their things, they just topped off their tanks and left for home, not even sure if it was still there. Some people made arrangements to get to Mexico. A small group of radicals even thought to march to D.C. in protest, though I heard they were shot before leaving the county. And some of us, some of us stayed.

If only we had known the magnitude of the situation, perhaps we would have fought it. I like to tell myself that every now and then, but I know in my heart it was fear that kept us quiet as our world was overtaken by them, the army, the men with guns.


No one really knew who the they were or where they were from. They spoke well and were seemed American enough, for a group that had apparently overthrown the government. Rumor had it they were a renegade sect of our own armed forces, but their intent still was unclear. They set up a base of operations in the city. No one was allowed in or out without special permission. Though the whole city was on lock-down, the activities of those of us left at the university went mostly unnoticed.

After they moved in, I took up residence on the fourth floor of the old Lithinham music administrations building. Besides being a bigger and safer location than my dorm, it came equiped with a fireplace, compilments of the 1800's (when the building had been built), and more importantly, it was near the School of Music.

Before the troubled times, before they showed up, I had been a student in the school of music there. Music was my refuge in a world gone mad, and though I was far from the few remaining others, I couldn't stand to leave the old school behind.

The School of Music had always felt like home to me. I guess with the world as it was outside, I really needed something familiar to cling to.

The old group Piano classroom became my main livin area, that being where the fireplace was located. I had moved all the old useless electronic pianos down to the 2nd floor, leaving only the old grand piano up on the teacher's platform at the front of the room. I scavenged my matterss from the dorms along with other supplies such as food and blankets. Spam and beef jerky became my saviors, along with canned fruits and veggies, and saltine crackers. Everyday I went out, bring back as much as I could carry, filling up my storerooms on the third floor. Things went well, for a while, but then came the rains.