Remember the Rain
By Dane Lurex
Standing alone in the cool night the fourth of November. It's raining heavily and I'm forced to face the heavens and compelled to whisper:
"God is in the rain"
I cry – not out of fear, for I am truly free, but out of loss and happiness and I owe it all to him.
I remember clearly the first night I meet him, weighed down by fear as I had been my whole life, he rescued me from my offenders and offered me his monologue – God knows how long it must have taken him to finished that and sculptured it to perfection. He was an actor and the ally, his stage.
"Voila! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villian by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is its vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished, as the once vital voice of the verisimilitude now venerates what they once vilified. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin van guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose vis a vis an introduction, and so it is my very good honour to meet you, and you may call me V."
It didn't mean much to me back then, but now years after his death and the revolution I'm beginning to realize just how much of an impact he made on me.
He liberated me from fear and now I'm able to forgive his harsh method. It's the very same reason that I remember Valerie when it's raining, that when I think of freedom I remember the grand classical symphony that filled the streets that night, just one year before the revolution, that when I see a Fawkes' mask I think of love and revenge.
For the people, it is now a symbol of the liberation.
Bitterness overtakes me once in a while, when I'm alone in the night, not understanding why he had to give his life, but it all comes back to me in the morning.
And I am grateful for his sacrifice and I remind myself that he knew that it had to be that way.
Revolutions are written in the blood of the people – he knew that and understood more than most that innocent blood should not be spilled.
Was he innocent? off course not. Was he oblivious? off course not. He knew exactly how the revolution was to go down, having planned it carefully for decades. He knew exactly who he would kill and he did so in very cold blood.
He was wise and wisdom and innocence never played well together.
Like love and revenge. Vendetta and fear. Life without freedom, your god giving free will and manipulation and control.
I smile briefly, reminiscing the first time we meet, where he pointed out the paradox of asking a masked man, who he was.
I overcame me fear by the words, formed in the coldest voice of spite; "No thanks, I will rather die behind the chemist shed," and somehow I grew to love the man that made me say them, though I thought I would never be able to feel anything ever again. I had been reborn by his hand.
I pulled violently back to reality when the clock strikes midnight and the streets fill with music and I whisper:
Remember, remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason why gunpowder, treason
Should ever be forgot...
Hope you liked it – let me know, review.
Yours truly, Dane Lurex