It’s summer, again. Explosions can be heard in the area around the polytechnic where the students have returned to seize their campus once more. Church bells ring erratically across the city as parishioners signal to one another. Troopers stop and quickly search random passers-by. Whole neighbourhoods lose electrical power. Since all this began, the wealthy man’s frantic campaign to wring every last has been stopped, leaving hollow concrete shells where once the wealthy man had sought to erect glass and steel monuments to his own greed. And Valeri had nearly become one of them, with the rest of the residents at Dominion Courts to have become little more than one of many footnotes in the historical narrative to be written by the wealthy man. But now our time is come. Every bullet fired, every bomb set off, every day worked and every foot brought down in front of us and every muscle smoothly contracted and expanded like the hydraulics of our machines all bring us closer to our goal. But this remains true only so long as we commit ourselves to nothing less than a final victory. Men like Valeri realize this now, after all that’s happened, all their lives having led to this moment. Men like Valeri have reached this point in their lives after much struggle and much hardship, but realize this formative experience could never have been without much hardship and much struggle. It’s the way of thing; it has always been and shall always be. If we are to realize our final victory we must not only acknowledge this truth but embrace it.
Later, Valeri turns to his screen along with the millions of others across the country and around the world. In a liberated zone in a city halfway across the country the rebel leader Elijah has taken to a pulpit overlooking a public square to denounce the provisional government led by the criminals who have conspired to carry on the international war and to call for its overthrow. Behind him there’s a red banner with gold letters reading ‘NO SURRENDER.’ A crowd watches, cheering him on, every pause in his speech filled with the shouting of revolutionary slogans. “For as long as they’ve fought the rising tides of history, every day they have sought to extend their way has only ensured that the final rising should take the form of a cataclysm still more violent,” the rebel says, “and the more they have fought us, the greater the devastation our final victory will bear us witness. Let our history show the criminal act should not be considered the act of rising against the repression of poverty, depression, and exploitation but that of the institution of poverty, depression, and exploitation in the first place. We, they who fight injustice are the heroes; let they who perpetuate injustice be seen as the villains. Out of the many we form an indivisible whole, in service of a democratic ideal that should transcend the boundaries so long imposed on us by an alien class. In consenting to continuing the slaughter of working men by working men on the world’s battlefields, and in consenting to the continued reign of the wealthy over the worker the provisional government has vacated its right to govern us. And so it must be destroyed. The criminal-illegal regime in the Westminster must be overthrown and in its place a democratic regime established so that the working man may yet cast off the shackles of the wealthy man’s oppression and come to control his own destiny.”
As he listens, Valeri feels an electric sensation running the length of his spine, chills standing every hair on his body and raising goosebumps on every patch of exposed skin. This isn’t a man speaking to a crowd. This is a prophet speaking to his disciples, to a world yet filled with unbelievers almost ready to receive the gospel even if few have yet to realize it. This man’s name has long been whispered in the shadows and screamed from the rooftops whenever the working man has called out in anguish. His real name is unimportant, for he’s known only as Elijah. This is the rebel released from prison, in so achieving his release reaching for his destiny. “As it is written, the first shall be made last and the last shall be made first. In rising we give a voice to the voiceless, defence to the defenceless, spirit to the dispirited and power to the disempowered. From the slums of Britain to the shantytowns of Mexico, from the decrepit factories of the Russian hinterland to the scorched oilfields of Arabia, from even the sweatshops of India to the plantations of Rwanda, let the working man combine his disparate factions into an indivisible whole, and let the fires of liberation consume the world. All shall be called to account for their sins by this dark essence, in whatever form it chooses to assume. But our struggle is not yet won. Our struggle may never be won. Our enemies are strong, and they shall continue to divide us against ourselves for so long as there remains air in their lungs and blood in their veins. The tide of an unwinnable war may yet turn against us. Already we have won the full-throated support of many once-dissident factions. Already we have seized our homes, our factories, our mills, our universities and our churches. Out of the many, we form an indivisible whole. Against the few we summon our strength. Across the nations let the working man be free. Across the nations let these words mark the way to the future.”
“Workers of the world, unite!”
A Note from the Author
‘Apocalypse Rising’ is the first in a trilogy of novels. Parts II and III are expected to be released over the course of the next eighteen months.
You can follow J.T. on Twitter, where his handle is @jtmarshauthor for the latest news.
You can also visit his personal website at http://jtmarshauthor.com/
Copyright
Copyright 2018 J.T. Marsh
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