The Promised England
“If there is one thing I regret,” the young girl sobbed as she wrote on the blank white wall. “It’s not knowing who I am.”
“Hey, you!” a voice called from behind her. Gasping, she turned to see two Tyrannians pointing their guns at her. She dropped her pen and moved toward them with her hands out in supplication.
“Threatening move,” one of them said, firing. “Target destroyed.”
They marched off and I, left in the shadows, found myself looking down at the body of their newest victim with remorse. “Fool,” I whispered to her, shaking my head and walking away down a hidden alley, my leather trench coat flapping behind me.
England was unrecognisable now. A dictator by the name of Li Yan had taken over our country, killing the Prime Minister and goverment and royal family, sending anyone who wouldn’t submit to a concentration camp of sorts.
England was no more. Yan had closed the borders with Wales, Devon and Scotland, all of whom were run by their own leaders. They’d often tried to send help, but none had been able to get through in the five years Yan had been in power. He’d stopped all air traffic except his own, he’d stopped all ferries. The only totally free part of England were the islands dotting its coast. No one went anywhere, though, unless they were totally suicidal. The small band of rebels had opened up the tunnel network under England’s soil and taken it over, killing any and all Tyrannians (Yan’s personal guard and police) who opposed us. We had Yan scared. Finally, thinking we were trapped and would never come out again, he stopped sending Tyrannians in after us. He thought we were powerless; that there was nothing we could do.
He was wrong. One of the tunnels led into a military base and we went in taking weapons, food and uniforms. We told people we weren’t there to hurt them and that we were the resistance, and they gave us more, saying that we were the final hope.
That was four years ago. People forgot the rumours about us, forgot our names, forgot everything but their own suffering.
We are not powerless. We are not weak. We are waiting. We are coming. We will take England by storm. We will take England back. And England, as a country, shall have her revenge.
“Hey, you!” a voice called from behind her. Gasping, she turned to see two Tyrannians pointing their guns at her. She dropped her pen and moved toward them with her hands out in supplication.
“Threatening move,” one of them said, firing. “Target destroyed.”
They marched off and I, left in the shadows, found myself looking down at the body of their newest victim with remorse. “Fool,” I whispered to her, shaking my head and walking away down a hidden alley, my leather trench coat flapping behind me.
England was unrecognisable now. A dictator by the name of Li Yan had taken over our country, killing the Prime Minister and goverment and royal family, sending anyone who wouldn’t submit to a concentration camp of sorts.
England was no more. Yan had closed the borders with Wales, Devon and Scotland, all of whom were run by their own leaders. They’d often tried to send help, but none had been able to get through in the five years Yan had been in power. He’d stopped all air traffic except his own, he’d stopped all ferries. The only totally free part of England were the islands dotting its coast. No one went anywhere, though, unless they were totally suicidal. The small band of rebels had opened up the tunnel network under England’s soil and taken it over, killing any and all Tyrannians (Yan’s personal guard and police) who opposed us. We had Yan scared. Finally, thinking we were trapped and would never come out again, he stopped sending Tyrannians in after us. He thought we were powerless; that there was nothing we could do.
He was wrong. One of the tunnels led into a military base and we went in taking weapons, food and uniforms. We told people we weren’t there to hurt them and that we were the resistance, and they gave us more, saying that we were the final hope.
That was four years ago. People forgot the rumours about us, forgot our names, forgot everything but their own suffering.
We are not powerless. We are not weak. We are waiting. We are coming. We will take England by storm. We will take England back. And England, as a country, shall have her revenge.
The End
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THE GOODS
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The Promised England, which
was posted on Sep 25, 2008 by
TitanParadise.
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Action / Adventure, Fantasy, Mystery / Thriller
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