Duplicity's Nature

• Mariam Ghanam, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2022

I stood tall, mirroring my late fathers once pride-filled stance, and strove for protecting the hopes of many. Taking my position near the nation’s main bright river, the Mune River, I stood firmly. Unwavering. Committed.

I remember my late father’s dreams of leaving his mark on the people, his dreams of making a change. I had asked him, what need for change in this perfect home, for all our hopes and peace was provided through the tender-hearted nobles. He himself knew it, for he worked for the Imperials themselves. He knew well enough of the blessings that the Imperial nation had bestowed upon us, so what more must we dream of? What more is there needed to change?

Gratitude and awe engulfs my heart, as I would soon become a beam of light for the people, and would soon become the ideal religious knight, and for that, I smile with the comforting assurance of protecting the nearest presence of God within this earth, his imperial highness, the Emperor. The natural crystal-clear blue of the river witnesses my testimony of ceaseless loyalty, just as my father had once done, leaving me in an inevitable state of experiencing the pure bliss of ignorance.

Slowly, the bright blue of the Mune River becomes slightly less bright, and so does the street I guard. There is an emergence of fuming flames, burning the tips of my nostrils, and the scent of a burning dream fills the street. An unpleasant and rotting scent travels endlessly through the streets, robbing the people of serenity, as the thick and dark smoke of a newly industrialised factory emerges. I smile, gratefully proud of the supportive actions of improving the commoners’ lives, inevitably blind to the slowly darkening river, as the ash and dust of the smoke slowly conquers its bright blue, section by section.

The smoke is followed by the endless cries. Cries of hopes, cries of shattered dreams, and cries of suffering. Uneducated children fill the lonesome street, dragging withering small baskets, and clinging at the sharp feet of noblemen passing by. Solitary has risen and empathy ceases to exist.

Slowly, my own heart begins to crumble, as I come to the realisation that where i once stood for the hopes and dreams of many, I now stand guarding mass genocides, filtering out the cries of the countless of families, feeding on nothing but the wastage of noble restaurants, sharing meals with the plagues of rats. Behind me remains the godless entity that further continues to encourage the subjugation of jewels, painted with the blood of their original owners.

The Mune river that once used to be so bright has now become a sickening black, mirroring the starless dark night sky. My father’s futile dream fades away, as well as our joint testimony of loyalty. I fail to notice or deepen his mark, and abandon my uniform, forever now ashamed of protecting humanity, or even striving to be part of them. I leave. Ashamed. Belittled. Forever Guilty.