Dec 26 2008
Imperialism, Book One, Chapter Two
“You are wrong, boy,” hissed the sergeant. “I am everything your parents were too lazy and too stupid to be. I am everything you wish you could be. I am smarter than you, stronger than you. I am in every way your better.”
Johnny did not remember drawing his fist back, but seconds after the sergeant fin-ished his sentence, Johnny’s fist connected with his jaw, sending him staggering back. Johnny stared at his now swollen, red knuckles curiously, as if he had never seen them before. Then, he leapt forward, his leg lashing forward to kick the man. His moment of elation and victory was short-lived, however; the sergeant truly was stronger than him, and he caught Johnny’s leg in midair, flipping him around. Johnny saw the ground rising up to meet him, felt the hard impact of his nose against the dirt, tasted the soil in his mouth. As the sergeant stepped forward, drawing his sword as he did so, Hans appeared from nowhere, swinging the smaller sword that Johnny had plunged into the ground only minutes before.
Until now, the Imperials had watched impassively. Now, with a genuine threat to their leader, they surged forward like a single, living being, a giant mob with the purpose of enveloping these two rebels. Johnny saw them approaching through a daze. One of his teeth had been knocked loose when he fell, and blood dribbled out from his lips, down his chin. The Imperials seemed nothing more than dark silhouettes against the falling sun, and he felt a need, an urge, to rise up from where he lay, but the wind had been knocked from him when he fell, and he merely coughed pathetically.
As Johnny attempted for the last time to roll over and crawl to his feet, he felt strong arms wrap around his abdomen, and his view of the ground became from much further away. A wave of dizziness washed over him, but then he realized that Hans had slung him over his shoulder. Hans held the sword in his right hand, Johnny noted with satisfaction, and had Johnny draped over his left shoulder. Johnny realized, however, than Hans would not be able to outrun the Imperials for too much longer. The man’s breathing had become ragged and labored, and each stride he took seemed to pain him.
“I think I can run, Hans,” he grunted.
“What’s that?” asked Hans.
“I can run. Put me down.”
At first, Johnny thought Hans had not heard him, but then Hans stopped running and gently bent over so Johnny could regain his footing. They both stumbled forward slightly, and Johnny felt the presence of the Imperials at his back, and then they ran again, ran with their feet flying over the dirt like beating wings. They ran because they knew that if they stopped, only harm would befall them and the rest of Silverage.
Soon, the soft fields of dirt began to thin out, and Johnny’s bare feet pounded re-lentlessly against the hard, packed soil of the town. He envied his pursuers, who wore thick boots made of animal skin. And their blue uniforms, too, so clean and stiff, almost sparkling in their brilliant affirmation of Imperialism. Johnny felt the anger rising in him once again, and he pushed it down for just a little longer, for just a few more minutes. He could not allow his rage to get the better of him, for that was why he and Hans were run-ning now.
Beside him, Hans started to speed up, and Johnny matched his pace, wondering why he used this sudden burst of speed. The boy realized why when he saw his father standing at the end of the street, a crowd of about twenty men and women with him. Be-hind the civilians were their children, protected against the tide of blue-clad soldiers.
“For Silverage!” shouted a man next to Johnny’s father.
“Yes, Dyvell! We fight for our town and our lives!” said his father.
Johnny and Hans were almost upon the civilians, now, and the Imperials were close behind. His father urged the civilians forward, and with a sound that seemed to rend the air apart, they met in a clash of swords, wooden staves, and any other weapon the residents of Silverage could get their hands on. As Johnny turned to fight with his bare hands, Hans pushed him aside, shielding him from an oncoming Imperial. Hans thrust the short sword through the Imperial’s belly, and Johnny’s eyes grew wide. And he saw that for all his hope of rebellion, for all of his plans for overthrowing the govern-ment, he had underestimated the power of death, and what seeing it happen can do to a man. He staggered back, feeling slightly nauseous. The feeling was exacerbated when a civilian’s head was cut off. The head flew through the air like a twisted ball and landed on the dirt, where it lay tilted off to a strange angle. The body slammed into the ground several yards away, blood still dripping out from the stump on its neck. Johnny felt his vision losing focus, and he lost his balance, almost falling over. Men were pushing him back again, and now he did fall. He was with the helpless children, and their small, inno-cent hands attempted to push him up.
