I wipe the sweat gathered on my upper lip for the hundredth time today, not caring about smearing dirt on my face. It’s so coated with it anyway that more would make little difference. A Shugo jabs me in the back with his gun and tells me to stop lagging. “Shugo” means “guardian” or “keeper” in Japanese, one of the many dead languages, but they are hardly that. They are the enforcers of the law, the jailers, the executioners. I am told that Japanese, along with hundreds of other languages, died out as English spread throughout the world. That’s all that is spoken now, English, with only the Shugos as proof others once existed. I start to hum a bit. There isn’t much music anymore, because music doesn’t get you food and safety. But I always thought it was nice, having something Central can’t steal from you. The tune I hum is a simple one, known by most of the other workers here, because I hum it often. A few weeks ago I added words to it, but I can only sing it when the Shugos aren’t around, because they would surely punish me. Seeing the cost clear, I attempt to wet my parched lips and open my dust-coated mouth. “God bless us everyone, we’re a broken people living under loaded gun, and it can’t be outfought, it can’t be outdone, it can’t be outmatched, it can’t be outrun. No!” Some of the workers hum along, bless them, and others are staring at me, shocked. I ignore them and sing it again, this time some of them joining in. “God bless us everyone, we’re a broken people living under loaded gun, and it can’t be outfought, it can’t be outdone, it can’t be outmatched, it can’t be outrun. No!” It’s now quite the scene, most of us lifting the large stone blocks onto the wall, singing in unison with each other and our work. But that is the only verse, and it soon dies out, until one brave worker starts up another verse he must have come up with, because I certainly didn’t. “God save us everyone, will we burn inside the fires of a thousand suns? For the sins of our hand, the sins of our tongue, the sins of our father, the sins of our young? No!” It catches on quickly, but as we are repeating it, I spot a Shugo hurrying over. I panic, and try to shush them quickly, but my heart sinks as the Shugo shouts. “What is the meaning of this?!” He roars. Everybody abruptly snaps their mouths shut and turn fearfully around. “Who started this nonsense?!” He glares at everybody, waiting for an answer. Nobody says a word. He marches up to a young worker, probably about twenty or so, and grabs him by his shirt and lifts him up. “I said, who started this?” To his credit, the boy says not a word, and just glares back. The Shugo cuffs him over the head, and moves on to another worker. I lift my chin up and say clearly, “I did. I started the singing. I’m sorry, does it bother you that we are using our voices in a way not legally approved by Central?” He grabs my hair and yanks it up. “Your are in no position to get smart with me, missy,” He snarls, shaking my head from side to side. “I’m very tempted to kill you on the spot.” “So why don’t you? Oh yes, because you have to get permission from Central. You need to go run to Daddy to make it all better.” I was expecting his fist to connect with my face the way it did, but it still hurts like hell. It was most certainly worth it, though. I’ve been wanting to tell a Shugo off for a very long time. He punches me gain, then drops me to the ground and kicks me. “Just remember, “Daddy” owns you. You are just a piece of trash, easily thrown out. Gotten rid of. Once Central has gotten word of you rebellious acts, even your meager scrap of life will be meaningless.” After he leaves, strong hands help me up. These workers are my friends- no- my family. The only family that I now know. They help me home, which is just a small room in the large building for the common people. I lay down on the thin mattress and close my eyes, close to tears. What have I done? This close to Central, it is never truly quiet or dark here. You can always hear the sirens and gunshots, people shouting and crying. Their airships with their spotlights and the tall buildings with blinking lights are a permanent fixture here. And it is to these symphonies that I fall into a fitful sleep. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The pounding on my door wakes me from my shallow sleep. I don’t even have time to climb off of my mattress before the Shugo’s burst through the door and grab me. I wince as one of them brushes against my side, the same spot I was kicked. “What are you doing?” I croak, vision still blurry from sleep. “We have orders from Central to place you under arrest for disturbing the peace and rebellious actions. You will come with us.” I know what is coming, and I know it can’t get much worse, so I throw in a “rebellious action”. “I would believe that, if there was any peace left to disturb.” This Shugo doesn’t lose his temper, and he doesn’t punch me. Instead, he says calmly, “We have orders for your execution at sunset tomorrow.” For once, I have nothing to say. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ They have allowed me to bring one thing with me to wear when they... At the execution. I grab the only other item of clothing that I own, and then we leave. They don’t put me in handcuffs, or tie my hands. There is no point. They know what I know: If I try to run, I will be dead in less than a second. I whistle softly under my breath. Apparently I am important enough a prisoner that they sent an airship, and it’s huge. I voice my thoughts, too, but am ignored. We board the ship, and the ride to Central is surprisingly short. There were not any windows on the ship, so it is only when I step out that I take in the brightly lit Central. There are lanterns hung, and people mill about on the wide road, exploring shops while their children dance trough the crowds, laughing. Bright neon signs are everywhere, telling people what goods they have for sale. A few musicians play on the edge of the street, and people crowd around, clapping and smiling. What a joke. What a lie. These people don’t know the horrors that go on in their dear Central. I am taken to a large tower that’s near the very center of Central. I expect to get put in a dirty, cold, smelly room somewhere, but instead they put me in a small white room, completely void of furniture. And the long, torturous wait begins. Hours and hours, of nothing but white. I know now why the room is this way. It can’t unsettle any mind, being incased in this nothingness for so long. I can not stand this for mush longer. I need something beyond the white. I dig my fingernail into a scabbed-over gash that I got last week, opening the wound back up. I smear a little blood on the wall across from where I am curled up, and then I am fine. By now the news of my arrest will have spread to the other workers, and I’m almost positive they will come to the execution. Central makes them a public display, as to send a warning to the other criminals. Some go to jeer and to be entertained, but most of the time, friends will go too, so you can see a familiar face in the last few seconds of your life. I smile as I realize something. I can do whatever I please. They are just going to kill me anyway. It is with that realization that I wait with a smile on my face until they come for me. When they do come, they make no comment on the blood, or my smile. I assume people go insane and do this kind of thing all the time. They lead me to yet another small room, where I relieve myself and change into my last outfit. When I come out, the Shugos are obviously shocked. My mother made this outfit, and I remember her saying it was a style from a very long time ago. It was a deep crimson dress, with long flowing sleeves and a gold-colored corset and hem, with knee-high laced up boots. I let my hair down, and it fell around my back and shoulders, with a bit over my right eye. I don’t think they were quite expecting me to wear a style from over three hundred years ago. After a moment, we are heading back down the hall, and they lead me out of the building. This time we are going to the very center of Central. The crowd has already gathered in the huge courtyard, and they part to make way for us. And there, right in front of me, are the gallows. Central seemed to like the sick ways of killing people a long time ago, and for some reason they decided to keep the tradition of hanging. Heck, they built a whole courtyard just to match. It would look like you stepped into a different world, if it were not for the camera that broadcasted this all over Central. There are around twenty Shugos here, and they push the crowd back, so there is a space about thirty feet long between them and the gallows. And me. I saw my family, the workers. All of them, every single one of them, had come. One of them, one I had known for a long time, was crying. And it was upon seeing his tear-streaked face, that I made my decision. I will not cry. I will keep my chin up, shoulders high, and be proud. Be proud that I have made it thus far, and that I have someone who would cry for me. They arrested me for rebelling, so I will rebel. They arrested me for singing. So I will sing. I start it quietly at first, but I grow more confident, and sing louder. I just repeat the same six words, over and over again, as loud as I can. “Lift me up, let me go.” The Shugos shift uncomfortably, unsure of what to do. “Lift me up, let me go.” And quietly, I can hear it starting in the crowd, started by my family, “Lift me up, let me go.” We sing, as one, as one of the Shugos brings me up onto the gallows. He ties my hands together. “Lift me up, let me go.” He starts to put the noose around my neck, and I hear something else starting. It’s my song, and they are shouting it, screaming it, at the Shugos. “God bless us everyone, we’re a broken people living under loaded gun. And it can’t be outfought, it can’t be outdone, it can’t be outmatched, it can’t be out run. No!” The noose is completely around my neck now. And I know that I must do something. I must show them. I must rebel. So, one last time, I sing. “God bless us every one, we are broken people living under loaded gun, but it can be outfought, it can be outdone, it can be outmatched, it can be outrun!” They scream, and cheer, and pick it up. And then I watch as they turn to the Shugos, and start to attack them. Then the shugo next to me pulls the lever. And there I hang, with a smile upon my face, and a song upon my lips. Epilogue: The High Queen sat in her living quarters, sipping chai and reading the new edition of the history of the country, so she could either approve or disprove it. She laughed, and a passing serving girl asked her what the matter was. “Oh it’s nothing. It’s just that they have spun some ridiculous story about who was the catalyst for the Downfall of Central.” The girl look surprised. “You don’t believe it? I just assumed that was what had happened, since that’s what is told.” The queen shook her head. “It seems unlikely that one girl could trigger a major rebellion like the Downfall. It was most likely a rumor that started a long time ago, and grew into something different.” The girl just shrugged, and left. The queen smiled to herself, and drumming her fingers on the short table, she started to hum. _____________________________________________________________________ Sorry if this was kind of long After listening to The Catalyst about 500 times, this was the concept I came up with. And yes, I know that I changed some of the lyrics a bit, but please don't kill me. And yes, I know that I didn't give ANY backround on the main character (heck, you don't even know her name), because, well....*struggles to say it without sounding cheezy* I feel like we all sort of have a bit of her inside of us, and we all have different backrounds, and personalities. I feel like a person can relate to her more if they don't know anything about her. So anyway...I hope you enjoyed it! ^.^