Post by Brokenhearts on Sept 10, 2006 19:30:07 GMT -5
It was far into the night and everything was deadly silent. Her troops were either very good at keeping quiet or fast asleep. She hoped it was the latter- they would pay for it the next day otherwise. Even her trustees and partners of her resistance were asleep. Or so she hoped.
It was only her awake. Awake and alert out for any sound there might be. Yet at the same time her mind fixed on the job in front of her.
In her hands was a screw driver, several wires, and a modified hand bomb. That she was setting and designing herself. Though she was not actually getting very far.
The only thing on in the room was her little desk light. It was a dim little thing that barely lit up anything, but her haunted almost gaunt features on her face, casting long shadows from her hands over the little bomb.
It was only her sharp eyes that made sure she made no mistakes. Eyes that had been trained from a young age from reading late into the night to be able to see in such poor conditions.
As the hours wore on, her patients began to fray. The simple task of rewiring the bomb to what it had been was proving impossible. The slightest mistake could cause a fire- though thankfully not a deadly explosion. This was a simple prototype she was experimenting on, she would have to be in a lab to make a proper bomb. The wiring was simply refusing to be attached to the timer that would set it off when a the timer was set.
Slowly, her knuckles turned whiter and whiter. Her hands gained the slight tremor she had worked so hard to loose. Till eventually her normally steady hands were shaking as though they had Parkinson’s disease.
She dropped the contraption with a thud to her wooden desk. She leaned back in her chair, breathing in deeply. Her sigh was angry and frustrated. She couldn’t understand.
Bombs were her speciality. The would do as they were told in her hands. Now she could not make the wires go back to where they had been?! It just did not make any sense.
She allowed herself to go slowly into a mediative state. Her body relaxed slowly, her hands returned to their original darkish pallor, and the shake left gently, going back to their original steady state.
She slowed her breathing down, and then her heart rate. Almost right down, then allowed it to go back to it’s normal rate. It always calmed her, it showed her that she was in charge of herself, and everything around her. It gave her the strength she needed for this rebellion.
As she meditated, she allowed her mind to wander. Back to when she was younger. As she would often do when she was meditating.
It wandered back to when she was a teenager. A different person. Different girl. Different name. Different dreams. Different goals.
The only think that linked her to her past was her spunky, no-nonsense attitude. The one that got her where she needed to be and when. It was the only thing she had managed to keep hold of in her rocky, changeable life.
Everything else had escaped her. Disassociated themselves with her. Cut her off.
Though most she caused of her own free will.
Pictures of her family, her sisters, her parents, her uncles, aunts and cousins. Her grandparents, nieces and nephews. All of them were on her mind constantly. But none of them knew if she what she was doing, how she was… or even if she was alive or not. She had cut them off for their own sakes. And her own peace of mind.
There were only a few people from her past that knew that she was still alive. Her friends. Her closest friends. They were aware of her existence, and kept and eye on her family for her. Making sure that government wouldn’t harm them if they ever caught wind of her true identity.
She had lost that too. Her true identity. It was lost amongst all her fake passports, fake IDs, fake club memberships, drivers licenses, even credit cards. The only thing constant with them all was the picture of the card. Nothing more.
She kept at least one name with her rebellion. Two to be safe. But the one she used most was the most famous. And possibly the one that she would become notorious for.
It was not her name given to her at birth. Rather one that a friend… a boy that had told her that he was in love with her at one time- he had given her that name. She fell for the name the moment she heard it. It suited her scatty life perfectly. It suited her and her purpose perfectly.
Even after they separated, she kept the name and cherished it.
She frowned as her mind wandered over to him. The boy… no- the man who had given her the name. They had been but early teenagers when they had first met. She thirteen and him fourteen.
Both teenagers with a murky past, clinging to something normal. They found each other, and found hope in each others conversations and advice. Their strong friendship turned to love as the few months past. Then a month before he turned fifteen- he admitted to her (after much persuading from a mutual friend) that he was in love with her.
She smiled slightly at the memory. They had been on two opposite sides of the Earth, talking through a computer screen, but that was the only way it could have worked.
They still loved each other.
Her smile faded into an angry, hurt scowl. Or did till he was twenty. Until she told him she couldn’t see him any more. Not after what he had done.
She had felt betrayed and angry. And for some reason… it still hurt her like a raw wound.
Though why think of him just then?! It had been over five years since they had broken up. Five years since she had spoken to him or heard from him.
Though after him, her longest relationship lasted three months. And none of them gave her the same feeling of utter life as that one had. His memory still haunted her, and she cursed him for it.
He left england two months after they had broken up, and in those two months, she had been forced to see him almost everyday.
They didn’t speak, they didn’t look at each other or acknowledge each other. Their friends had been shocked and confused- their relationship (though a relatively on off one) had been one that they had all dreamed of.
When he finally left back for America- it was a blessing to be free of him. Four months after that, she disappeared to the world and adopted a million other identities and formed her Resistance against the tyrannical authority of Britain.
As her last image of them being happy together floated in her mind, she grunted crossly and pushed it away from her as far as she possibly could. Just the thought of him made her angry and irritable. She could not have the memory of him ruin everything she had worked so hard to create.
She resistance was strong, getting stronger. Under ground, more and more people were hating the government more and more. Their awareness of the inequality of the world around them was becoming almost unbearable to them. So they came to her. To help with her fight against it.
She had her freedom fighters, though she refused to let them use religious reasons for their fight, or suicide bombings. She had her governors that helped her with decisions. She had her party being trained to learn how be in politics. Though they had not yet been allowed to run in any election just yet. There was still much to be learned.
She had learned from past failed experiences of over turning governments that you needed more than a troop of freedom fights. You needed a group of talkers as well.
How else had the suffragettes and suffragists been able to get women equal to men? One was a talking, peaceful group, the other forceful and loud about their opinions. Though working apart, together they brought about the changes.
She figured, to have them both under her control, would mean almost certain results.
But then… there was always that almost in the back of her mind.
She shivered slightly, and calmed her breathing again. Through her musings came a more devious plan. One that would get them all noticed very soon.
One that would either mean she succeeded and people would know the angry, forceful, fighter side of her organisation.
In three days time…
A knock at the door made her jump, her hand flying instantly to the draw where she kept her little switch blade. As she silently pulled out the blade from the slightly open draw, she glanced at her watch. It said, that it was three in the morning. No one in the compound should have been up and wandering around. Let alone knocking on the door.
She flicked the knife open and ran her thumb up the blade. It was sharp enough to kill if she had to. She had done in the past.
“Hataya,” called a hoarse voice, slightly slurred, “open the door! It’s Ben.”
It was only her awake. Awake and alert out for any sound there might be. Yet at the same time her mind fixed on the job in front of her.
In her hands was a screw driver, several wires, and a modified hand bomb. That she was setting and designing herself. Though she was not actually getting very far.
The only thing on in the room was her little desk light. It was a dim little thing that barely lit up anything, but her haunted almost gaunt features on her face, casting long shadows from her hands over the little bomb.
It was only her sharp eyes that made sure she made no mistakes. Eyes that had been trained from a young age from reading late into the night to be able to see in such poor conditions.
As the hours wore on, her patients began to fray. The simple task of rewiring the bomb to what it had been was proving impossible. The slightest mistake could cause a fire- though thankfully not a deadly explosion. This was a simple prototype she was experimenting on, she would have to be in a lab to make a proper bomb. The wiring was simply refusing to be attached to the timer that would set it off when a the timer was set.
Slowly, her knuckles turned whiter and whiter. Her hands gained the slight tremor she had worked so hard to loose. Till eventually her normally steady hands were shaking as though they had Parkinson’s disease.
She dropped the contraption with a thud to her wooden desk. She leaned back in her chair, breathing in deeply. Her sigh was angry and frustrated. She couldn’t understand.
Bombs were her speciality. The would do as they were told in her hands. Now she could not make the wires go back to where they had been?! It just did not make any sense.
She allowed herself to go slowly into a mediative state. Her body relaxed slowly, her hands returned to their original darkish pallor, and the shake left gently, going back to their original steady state.
She slowed her breathing down, and then her heart rate. Almost right down, then allowed it to go back to it’s normal rate. It always calmed her, it showed her that she was in charge of herself, and everything around her. It gave her the strength she needed for this rebellion.
As she meditated, she allowed her mind to wander. Back to when she was younger. As she would often do when she was meditating.
It wandered back to when she was a teenager. A different person. Different girl. Different name. Different dreams. Different goals.
The only think that linked her to her past was her spunky, no-nonsense attitude. The one that got her where she needed to be and when. It was the only thing she had managed to keep hold of in her rocky, changeable life.
Everything else had escaped her. Disassociated themselves with her. Cut her off.
Though most she caused of her own free will.
Pictures of her family, her sisters, her parents, her uncles, aunts and cousins. Her grandparents, nieces and nephews. All of them were on her mind constantly. But none of them knew if she what she was doing, how she was… or even if she was alive or not. She had cut them off for their own sakes. And her own peace of mind.
There were only a few people from her past that knew that she was still alive. Her friends. Her closest friends. They were aware of her existence, and kept and eye on her family for her. Making sure that government wouldn’t harm them if they ever caught wind of her true identity.
She had lost that too. Her true identity. It was lost amongst all her fake passports, fake IDs, fake club memberships, drivers licenses, even credit cards. The only thing constant with them all was the picture of the card. Nothing more.
She kept at least one name with her rebellion. Two to be safe. But the one she used most was the most famous. And possibly the one that she would become notorious for.
It was not her name given to her at birth. Rather one that a friend… a boy that had told her that he was in love with her at one time- he had given her that name. She fell for the name the moment she heard it. It suited her scatty life perfectly. It suited her and her purpose perfectly.
Even after they separated, she kept the name and cherished it.
She frowned as her mind wandered over to him. The boy… no- the man who had given her the name. They had been but early teenagers when they had first met. She thirteen and him fourteen.
Both teenagers with a murky past, clinging to something normal. They found each other, and found hope in each others conversations and advice. Their strong friendship turned to love as the few months past. Then a month before he turned fifteen- he admitted to her (after much persuading from a mutual friend) that he was in love with her.
She smiled slightly at the memory. They had been on two opposite sides of the Earth, talking through a computer screen, but that was the only way it could have worked.
They still loved each other.
Her smile faded into an angry, hurt scowl. Or did till he was twenty. Until she told him she couldn’t see him any more. Not after what he had done.
She had felt betrayed and angry. And for some reason… it still hurt her like a raw wound.
Though why think of him just then?! It had been over five years since they had broken up. Five years since she had spoken to him or heard from him.
Though after him, her longest relationship lasted three months. And none of them gave her the same feeling of utter life as that one had. His memory still haunted her, and she cursed him for it.
He left england two months after they had broken up, and in those two months, she had been forced to see him almost everyday.
They didn’t speak, they didn’t look at each other or acknowledge each other. Their friends had been shocked and confused- their relationship (though a relatively on off one) had been one that they had all dreamed of.
When he finally left back for America- it was a blessing to be free of him. Four months after that, she disappeared to the world and adopted a million other identities and formed her Resistance against the tyrannical authority of Britain.
As her last image of them being happy together floated in her mind, she grunted crossly and pushed it away from her as far as she possibly could. Just the thought of him made her angry and irritable. She could not have the memory of him ruin everything she had worked so hard to create.
She resistance was strong, getting stronger. Under ground, more and more people were hating the government more and more. Their awareness of the inequality of the world around them was becoming almost unbearable to them. So they came to her. To help with her fight against it.
She had her freedom fighters, though she refused to let them use religious reasons for their fight, or suicide bombings. She had her governors that helped her with decisions. She had her party being trained to learn how be in politics. Though they had not yet been allowed to run in any election just yet. There was still much to be learned.
She had learned from past failed experiences of over turning governments that you needed more than a troop of freedom fights. You needed a group of talkers as well.
How else had the suffragettes and suffragists been able to get women equal to men? One was a talking, peaceful group, the other forceful and loud about their opinions. Though working apart, together they brought about the changes.
She figured, to have them both under her control, would mean almost certain results.
But then… there was always that almost in the back of her mind.
She shivered slightly, and calmed her breathing again. Through her musings came a more devious plan. One that would get them all noticed very soon.
One that would either mean she succeeded and people would know the angry, forceful, fighter side of her organisation.
In three days time…
A knock at the door made her jump, her hand flying instantly to the draw where she kept her little switch blade. As she silently pulled out the blade from the slightly open draw, she glanced at her watch. It said, that it was three in the morning. No one in the compound should have been up and wandering around. Let alone knocking on the door.
She flicked the knife open and ran her thumb up the blade. It was sharp enough to kill if she had to. She had done in the past.
“Hataya,” called a hoarse voice, slightly slurred, “open the door! It’s Ben.”