Day 3 - A World on Fire

The tension Zarah had been carrying since she had cowered under her kitchen table mere hours earlier melted away.  She could feel her shoulders relax as she looked around at her friends.  They were seated in a circle in old wooden stacking chairs, and mumbling quietly to one another.  The shadowy figure who had also traveled here was just taking off his dark hood, and she saw his face.  It was a new face, one she didn't recognize at all.  He timidly took an empty seat, and Zarah could see the only one left was beside him. She quickly took her seat as she heard a deep voiced man clear his throat.  This was usually the signal of the beginning of the meeting.

The hooded stranger to her left, Zarah slid as far to the right of her seat as she could.  On that side was a woman who called herself Rebecca.  She was a steely gray haired, sixty-something woman whose hard life showed in the permanently etched scowl on her face.  Rebecca lightly squeezed Zarah's arm in reassurance.  Perhaps she knew something Zarah didn't.  Zarah even thought she saw her attempt a smile.  It wasn't her strong suit, smiling, but she was a strong and steadfast woman who could be relied upon.  Zarah admired her very much.

"I'm glad you could all make it," said the deep voiced man, who called himself Harold.  He was the same man who had let everyone in the door.  "Constance has called us together in response to the increase in rioting and looting in our area.  Constance, if you would like to take the floor?" Zarah watched the woman, who was sitting directly across from her, lean forward in her chair.  She looked around the circle, making eye contact with her group.  Constance was the leader of their nameless revolution.  Zarah often wished she knew Constance's real name.  But, the name she had chosen for herself fit her perfectly.  She was strong, confident and unwavering in her convictions.

Constance was in her mid thirties.  She spoke with authority, yet diplomacy.  She commanded respect, but also gave it in the utmost.  Zarah knew, as did everyone else there, that without Constance, the group would crumble.  She cleared her throat, and began to speak.

"I called you all here tonight because the fighting has gotten worse.  The State Army has been pushing into residential areas in town, and the Civil Union is pushing back, as I'm sure many of you have already seen. This is happening all over the country. We must be vigilant in our cause.  We must do everything we can to maintain what peace we can, and help those caught up in the violence.  It doesn't matter which side they are on, these people rioting and fighting are human beings.  All of them.  They deserve a life without this turmoil as much as any other.  Let's never lose sight of that."  Though her words were firm, Zarah thought she could detect a waver in Constance's voice.

"That said, we need to come up with a better plan of action," she continued.  "Obviously, what we've been doing hasn't been enough.  No matter how many people we help, how many wounded we treat, how many homeless we shelter, it hasn't stopped the fighting.  And, it never will.  We've now been pushed into a place where we have to take action.  Our humanitarian efforts are only band-aids.  They can't heal the problem.  They can't bring our country back together."  With every word, the people sitting around the circle sat forward more and more.  Zarah could feel the tension growing.

Thus far, her little band of helpers had been working behind the scenes, in the shadows, to help those effected by the riots and unrest.  They had opened their homes, delivered food, given medical care.  Their original hope was that by setting the example of kindness and care toward others, they could win people over to their cause.  And, on a small scale, it had worked.  But Zarah knew, as did everyone else, that it wasn't going to be enough in the long run.

"Because of this," Constance said, "I have invited a new member to our group tonight, as you all may have noticed."  Everyone's eyes turned to the hooded stranger. "This is Gabriel.  He works for the State Army."  Zarah could feel everyone instantly suck in their breath.  "Gabriel also works for the Civil Union.  He's a double agent, so to speak.  And, Gabriel wants to help us."  And then they collectively exhaled.  "Gabriel has been gathering intelligence for the better part of a year now, and he has come tonight to share what he knows, and help us make a plan to move forward.  He wants to help us end this nightmare."

Day 2 - A World on Fire

Zarah listened carefully to the sound of her footsteps, calculating their weight and echo to be sure they were the only ones she heard.  The church was only a few blocks away.  As she descended a hill, she could hear the crunch of gravel beneath her feet.  A streetlight burst and fizzled out above her, making her heart race.  The not too unfamiliar sound seemed like a piece of the soundtrack of her life.  Things crashing to the ground had provided the backdrop for everything ever since the day the President signed the decree that all minorities be registered.  That was the first step to their descent into hell.  The tattoos, and the regular searches came shortly after.  Zarah was always amazed at how quickly a society could descend into the hate within itself.

A different noise across the street startled her and she crept to the shadows in between two apartment buildings.  Zarah squinted to see what had caused it, but could only see shadowed movement.  She calculated that she still had about 40 minutes until the meeting started and they locked the church doors for safety.  She still had time, but there was no way of knowing if the shadowy figure across the street was friend or foe.  It moved, slowly and cautiously and kept to the shadows.  Zarah waited and watched as the figure tentatively moved in the same direction she was travelling, down the hill.  She lingered until it had gone about a block ahead of her and proceeded to continue her course.  She brushed up against the brick buildings and shied from whatever streetlights were still glowing.  To her benefit, there were few.  There was so little light that she could actually see the stars shining high above the city, a sight very rarely seen in such a place.  

Keeping the strange figure on her radar, she moved with little more disruption, but not without the fear that sat in the pit of her stomach like a boulder.  She carried the weight of it with her every waking minute.  It even invaded her dreams.  Zarah walked, keeping pace with the shadow ahead.  She could see a few blocks ahead a lonely looking brick building with a sign in front, the kind you can change the letters on to suit your message.  It read "Where is our salvation?" and draped over the edge of it was a green scarf.  The group's secret meeting places were always marked with a green item of some sort, like a ribbon, a blotch of paint on a door, or a scarf.  The shadow ahead of her made its way toward the green marker as well.  She hung back and waited to see if it would ascend the stairs to the door or not.  She observed it cautiously look around (there was no way to tell if the mystery person was man or woman) and then knock on the door.  The door opened a sliver and words were exchanged.  Then the stranger disappeared into the church.  It was Zarah's turn now.

Zarah silently walked up to the door and knocked.  A crack of light broke the darkness as the door creaked in protest to the movement.  A gruff voice spoke. "How can I help you?"

"My aunt Edith baked you a pie," Zarah replied.  The door opened just enough to allow her in, and it was shut behind her noiselessly.  She found herself in a candlelit foyer, lit by a single flame.  The gruff doorman pointed toward a dark hallway where she could see a faint light at the end.  She made her way down the hall, which gave way to stairs leading to the basement.  The building smelled of old wood and the fragrance of dirt when it is wet. As she descended into the basement, she could feel the air dampen.  But, her spirits didn't.  At the end of the staircase was another dimly lit room, full of shining faces.  These were the faces of her revolution.  These were the faces of love, hope, charity and acceptance she had come to know over the past many months.  These were the faces of family. 

Day 1 - A World on Fire

As the Ashes Fall

No one ever thought this could happen.  Zarah looked around at the aftermath of the latest riot.  The dark street was finally quiet, like the life had been squeezed out of it after the frenzy of bodies and shouts of the citizens, at the height of their anger with nowhere to go and an utter inability to do anything else, crashed through the street seeking only destruction.  Riots were happening all over the country.  They were happening all over the world.  The country was on fire.  It was burning, and there was nothing that could stop the momentum now.  The people were in complete revolt, and had been pushed so hard by the leaders, who were blinded and out of touch with their people, that it seemed the only recourse was violent revolt.  In a few short years, most of the world had stood by and watched her country fall into civil war, under the leadership of a tyrant who was elected in a fair, democratic election.  Needless to say, that democracy had crumbled.  Bribery and intimidation had become overt and commonplace.  Walls had been built.  Alliances had been formed.  In the face of it all, anarchy reigned.

History can teach us, or it can repeat itself.  It is merciless and doesn’t care who it hurts.  As Zarah looked around from her front step, she saw what was once a quiet residential street turned into the rubble of a war zone.  She had hid in the basement when the shouts and rumble of feet began hours earlier.  She had blacked out her windows in hopes her home would be undisturbed.  Broken glass crunched beneath her feet as she descended her stairs into the street.  The glass, she noticed, came from her front window.  With the stores closed and workers marching in defiance, there was little chance she could get it fixed.  History hadn’t taught us a thing, she thought mournfully.  Violence had begotten violence, and Zarah sincerely saw no immediate end to it.  The world was burning.

Maybe the fire would cleanse the world and allow it to be reborn from its ashes.  But birth is never a pleasant or easy process, and she could see that they were in the thick of it.  She walked tentatively down her front walk into the street beyond.  The only sound was the crackling of fire, and the occasional crash of something falling to the cement as it burned.  The fires were small now.  A car, completely gutted, stood stark against the trampled green grass across the street from her small bungalow.  Zarah hoped the world was giving birth to a new era of peace and rationality.  But, nothing was certain.  

This country had once been a beacon for the poor, the weak, the hungry.  It had served as a refuge for those fleeing tyranny and war.  It had been a shining opportunity in the midst of turmoil, oppression and despair.  Now, it was a symbol for everything it had once fought against.  Tyranny knew no bounds in this new era.  How quickly the law could crumble under fascism.  How quickly society could erode when being fed upon hate and intolerance.  Zarah wasn’t sure if the marchers and rioters that had laid waste to her neighbourhood were allies or enemies. Their actions were often the same.  In the name of tyranny or freedom, they destroyed their own country.  The fight had become so impassioned that neither side could distinguish its actions from the other.  They were an exact mirror, but no one was willing to see it.

Zarah walked, pushing down fear with each step she took.  She knew there was a chance she could run into a lingering rioter, yet she felt it necessary to examine the damage.  This small, simple action of being present in the aftermath was her way of taking it back, her way of trying to begin the healing process.  She knew the time was long past that the peacemakers of the world had to stand up and do something.  In the face of this bitter war of ideologies, the rational, the loving, the kind, the believers in humanity had to stand up and now fight too.  But that fight had to be different.  

Zarah felt her phone buzz in her pocket and she quickly scanned the empty street before she looked at her message.  It was a text from an anonymous number, that simply gave an address.  The number was never the same, but it was always an address.  This was the place for the underground meeting.  No one ever gave their real name, but they all had the same goal.  Rise up against the tyranny and violence, organize the people who wanted their world to stop burning, and plan their quiet revival of freedom.  Zarah knew that once the text was received people would begin traveling to the address immediately and the meeting would begin within the hour.  She carefully plotted her course. She would travel on foot, keep to the shadows and carefully take her route.  The address was for a church that was in the neighbourhood down the hill, closest to the fortified walls of city hall.  It was a dangerous place to be, especially as a woman, especially as an immigrant. But, it was worth the risk.  New information was undoubtedly coming, and maybe meeting right under the noses of government officials would be the best place to go unnoticed.

Zarah pulled her hood over her head and zipped her jacket up all the way to hide her face as much as possible.  She hadn’t worn her hijab in a year for fear of the repercussions.  There was less possibility of being noticed, but it wasn’t the only thing.  She hid her face because she knew her dark eyes didn’t resemble those of the accepted majority, and her dark hair didn’t fit in with them either. If she ran into the wrong people, she would be stopped and interrogated.  Especially since she was out alone in the middle of the night. She kept close to the sides of buildings and paused whenever she had to cross an alley or a street.  The night was quiet, and the quiet was deceiving.  She knew there could be eyes anywhere.