fan-fiction

Amidst a dimly lit chamber, the Arditi del Popolo sat with a determination etched upon their faces by the tools of war, their eyes bright like gunfire with the fervor of revolution. One amongst them, a tall man with shoulders like a battle cruiser brought his fist down upon the table with a thunderous crash, the cups scattered around the table shaking with resounding force. “We can’t just wait around, pants down,” he declared.

Before the bombs, in my younger and more optimistic years, my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. “Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “Just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.” He didn’t say any more, but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that.