Hanging By A Thread...

• Callum Clayton-dixon, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2010

2022 A.D. The United States of America is crumbling as a result of societal revolution and civil unrest as well as a major economic collapse, the Middle East is in revolt, China is divided by Civil war and the entire world is on the verge of anarchy.

“The West has destroyed our culture, our economies and our honour! Just as they laid waste to our country, we shall lay waste to theirs! The Soviet Union shall be resurrected and all its glory restored. We shall administer this earth as the first global empire!” bellowed General Yuri Zakhaev of the Soviet Ultranationalists.

In mere hours the democratic government of the Russian Federation had been overthrown and plans for the invasion of Asia and Europe were underway. The Soviet flag now flew in Moscow and Kiev and the Gimn Sovetskogo Soyuza sounded throughout the major cities. Previous Soviet vassals once again pledged their allegiance to the entity destined to rule the world. From Moscow, one and a half million Soviet troops began the march towards Europe from Moscow and another two and a half million marched on Asia from Kiev. T-90 tanks, Tokarev SVT artillery, MIG-65 aircraft, Destroyers and Red Army Infantry armed with AK-150 battle rifles formed the backbone of the Soviet military; the largest and most technologically advanced forces in the world. None could contend with the might of the Soviet Union. The construction of ICBM and nuclear missiles in Moscow commenced immediately and each missile had the potential to obliterate entire cities.

“Today we celebrate the resurrection of the Soviet Union and our victories at war. We shall soon govern this world as the first global Empire. The puny West has been crushed and they will pay for their oppressive acts. We are the people of the Soviet Union and it is our destiny!” bellowed Zakhaev though a megaphone from his flower covered dais. The vast crowds cheered and applauded. All hope of the West’s survival had faded.

Varechka Andropov, the Viceroy of Soviet Union sat three metres behind Zakhaev on the flower drenched platform. He was a pure communist unlike Zakhaev.

“I cannot let this proceed, he thought. It is madness. The millions of executions, the pillaging and razing of cites and their people. Yuri is a warmongering tyrant and he will not bring to an end to this destruction and a disgrace to Lenin.”

Varechka slipped his gloved hand into his coat and grasped his Parabellum tightly. He rose and strode towards the oblivious Zakhaev and aimed his pistol at the back of the Generals head from point blank range.
“Goodbye General”. The entire world spun as the future of its people hung in the balance. As the prostrate body hit the ground, a pool of crimson blood mingled with the colourful array of flower petals. With the world’s future within his grasp and all the glory that awaited him, one so close to him ended it all in a single shot