The SERENADE OF BITTERSWEET L'S
Chapter one : Laugh,Cry,and Cringe
"Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve
neither Liberty nor Safety."
—Benjamin Franklin.
He was too frank, wasn't he?
--
Sub-Chapter: Laugh
Deep within the Blue Light District, The Joke's on Us stood defiantly, its neon lights flickering
against the muted skyline of Saint Francis. The club was more than just a speakeasy for
laughter—it was a sanctuary of rebellion in a world that had criminalized joy.
Since the Great Division fractured what was left of California, the nation of Saint Francis had
clawed its way to stability through draconian order. Among its many oppressive reforms was the
Amusement Act, a piece of legislation that purged society of anything deemed "frivolous" or
"undermining public decency." Comedy, with its irreverent challenge to authority, was among the
first casualties.
In this dystopian reality, laughter was policed. Patrol drones floated through the streets, their
sensors tuned to detect the subtle moisture of suppressed chuckles. Neuro-implants punished
emotional transgressions with electric shocks, while comedians were labeled enemies of the
state. But in the shadowy corners of the Blue Light District, defiance flickered.
Tonight, Jack Falcon and Karolina had risked everything for the illicit luxury of laughter.
The club's interior was dimly lit, its walls lined with faded posters of Dave Chapelle, Chris Rock
and other executed comedians long erased from history. Jack and Karolina sat at a table near
the stage, dining on synthetic lobster and buttery baked potatoes—a rare indulgence that cost
them more than they could afford. Karolina's royal-blue dress shimmered under the holographic
lights, and her emerald-green jacket hugged her shoulders like armor.
"Caught you staring again," she teased, her voice warm and lilting.
Jack flushed, tugging at his tuxedo collar. "Can't help it," he admitted, then gestured to the
stage. "But this night's costing us half our savings. Let's enjoy the show while we get raided and
sent to a reeducation camp."
A spotlight illuminated the stage, revealing the comedian, Dex Zest, clad in a patchwork suit of
flickering neon panels. His exaggerated gestures and toothy grin were perfectly calculated to rile
up the crowd.
"Welcome to The Joke's on Us, folks," Dex began, pacing the stage. "Where freedom costs a
cover charge, and tomatoes double as ammo!"
Laughter rippled through the room, rebellious and unfiltered.
Dex leaned into the mic, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "You ever notice how
everything's a subscription now? Used to be you bought something, and it was yours. Now, my
bed charges me monthly to keep my dreams private. And don't get me started on toilets! Mine
sent me an email yesterday offering a deluxe flushing package!"
Jack burst out laughing, nearly spilling his drink. "Finally, someone who gets it!"
Karolina chuckled, her guard softening. "Alright, Falcon, I'll admit—this is good."
The comedian's set grew increasingly chaotic. Mimicking a homeless man awkwardly humping
a discarded mattress, Dex exaggerated every movement.
"No rhythm!" he exclaimed, thrusting his hips with jerky motions. "Looked like a fish out of
water—I called him Aquaman!"
The audience howled, their laughter cutting through the oppressive air of the outside world.
Not everyone shared the joy. A heckler lobbed a tomato, forcing Dex to duck.
"Missed me!" Dex shot back, dodging another tomato. "Bitch, I've been dodging critics since I
started!"
Tomatoes rained down as the heckler doubled down, and Dex turned the chaos into comedy.
"You throwin' groceries at me? Joke's on you—I get fifty percent of the tomato profits tonight!"
The crowd erupted in laughter, and Dex, emboldened, shouted, "If you're holding a tomato,
you're a bitch!"
Jack, unable to resist, hurled a tomato at lightning speed. Dex caught it mid-air, raising it like a
trophy.
"Biiitch!" the crowd yelled in unison, pointing and laughing at Dex, their chants filling the air with
rebellious glee.
Dex mock-bowed, grinning widely. "Fine, fine! Y'all got me. But don't forget—I'm the richest bitch
in the room tonight!"
The room exploded into unrestrained laughter, the sound resonating like a battle cry against the
sterile silence of Saint Francis.
As the show ended and Dex bowed to a standing ovation, Jack turned to Karolina, his eyes
alight. "Worth it?"
Karolina smiled, her laughter lingering like an aftertaste. "Yeah, Falcon. Worth every credit."
The two melted into the crowd, their hands brushing briefly before they slipped out into the cold,
silent streets. For a moment, the memory of their laughter was enough to keep the dystopia at
bay.
--
--
Sub-Chapter: "Cry"
The club's laughter echoed faintly in Jack and Karolina's ears as they stepped into the night.
Outside, the city of Saint Francis was cloaked in uneasy calm, its steel bones shrouded in the
glow of artificial moonlight. The metropolis was a marvel of human resilience and fragility—a
bastion built after California seceded during the War of the Schism. A protector, a prison, and a
monument to the cost of survival.
The dome overhead, known as Saint Francis Shield, loomed as both savior and jailer. It had
been constructed after the war left the land beyond uninhabitable—scarred by weaponized
genetic modifications, environmental devastation, and unrelenting conflict. Inside, life thrived
under tightly regulated harmony, but the soul of the city had withered under censorship,
surveillance, and the "corrections" inflicted upon dissenters. Peace was maintained through
fearful compliance, enforced by the silent eyes and ears embedded in every corner.
As they wandered into the Emerald District, the air grew heavier, quieter. This pocket of
eco-friendly design offered respite from the city's mechanical sprawl. Towering genetically
modified trees swayed in the dome's controlled breeze, their emerald leaves shimmering under
the soft, artificial glow. Beneath their beauty lay the cold truth: even nature had been engineered
to fit the system's needs, stripped of its wildness, like everything else in Saint Francis.
Jack and Karolina walked hand in hand, choosing to stroll rather than take the automated
walkways. The pathways hummed softly, their efficiency a reminder of the city's desire to erase
effort and, by extension, the need for choice. But walking gave them a sense of freedom,
however illusory.
Above them, the sky glowed indigo—a synthetic twilight designed to comfort its citizens. The
stars were mere projections, curated constellations meant to inspire hope and mimic the natural
world. To Jack, they felt hollow, beautiful but false, much like the rose he plucked from a public
planter nearby.
The rose was exquisite—its deep crimson petals glistening in the artificial light, its stem free of
thorns thanks to bioengineering. Yet, the absence of pain made it feel incomplete. Turning to
Karolina, he offered it to her.
"For you," he said softly, his voice tinged with melancholy.
She smiled, tucking the rose into her reddish-brown curls, where it complemented the molten
copper sheen of her hair under the streetlights. "Thank you," she whispered, her fingers
brushing his as she took it. For a moment, the weight of the city seemed to dissolve, replaced
by the fragile beauty of their connection.
--
At the park's entrance, a minister of Amoraé stood waiting, her pink dreadlocks framing a face
marked by the weariness of the city's spirit. Dressed in a tailored suit embroidered with "LOVE,"
she held a sign that read:
"Give to love. Love to give. Amoraé."
Her presence was an anomaly in a world where love was deemed a private indulgence, often
seen as a distraction from societal order. Yet, the ministers of Amoraé persisted, offering fleeting
moments of wisdom to those who sought them.
Jack handed her $50 with a playful grin. "Teach us something about love."
The minister's eyes gleamed with an ancient knowing. "Love," she said softly, "is the most
bittersweet of all the Great L's in life."
Karolina, moved, added another $150 to the donation. "For the lesson," she said, "and for
hope."
The minister smiled, her voice warm. "May Amoraé guide you to new beginnings."
--
Inside the park, rows of genetically perfected flowers lined pristine paths. A pond at the center
mirrored the artificial moonlight, its surface still and flawless. Karolina began to sing, her voice
intertwining with the melodies of engineered birds perched among the branches. Jack watched,
captivated, as her song imbued the space with an authenticity the city seemed to lack.
Taking her hand, he murmured,
"Your love is like water—breaking the hard, softening the stubborn, and having the strongest
pull. Let me be your moon so you can reflect my light and illuminate the darkness of this world."
She smiled, her caramel-brown skin glowing under the silvery light. "Let's go home," she
whispered, grounding him with her presence.
--
Back at their apartment, the rose rested on the bedside table, its delicate petals casting soft,
flickering shadows in the indigo glow filtering through the dome. It stood as a symbol of their
defiance—a fragile beauty surviving against the suffocating weight of conformity.
Karolina's small space was a mix of personal mementos and government-issued furnishings.
As they settled in,they entered the
cozy living room, shedding their outer
layers as they went. Jack found himself, drifting thoughts of the world outside. "Could their love
endure in a place designed to suppress individuality?"
Sense that her love is lost in thought. She pulled him back into the moment, by pressing her
warm lips against his own.
While looking into his eyes,she caught his
lingering gaze, laughing softly as she
moved her long hair and began removing the clothes to that her body was a masterpiece,
complemented by her long
legs and curvaceous form captivating
him entirely. She drew closer, her hazel
eyes--set like diamonds on a milky
canvas--locking onto his. They began
touching each others, their movements slow and deliberate, savoring the growing
intimacy.
Stay with me," .she whispered something into his ear,
her voice was so soft it was hard here,
but powerful enough to
make him smile from ear to ear. Guilding his hand it came near, she let him explore her
warmth,her desire and pleasure, as their connection deepened with each synchronized breath.
Jack lifted her effortlessly, carrying her
to their queen-sized bed. After gentle placing her, he began kneeling, and worshiping her with
his touch, his
tongue tracing intricate patterns that
elicited soft gasps and moans. Her
thighs trembled, her body responding
to every movement,creating a harmony of the solace,they found in each other, desire growing
as she took him fully into her, together they moved with an unspoken rhythm.Their passion built
steadily, harmonize with the music
playing softly in the background.
Karolina began to sing between breaths
her voice soaring in a falsetto
'Love without you is like words with no
vowels,
My head's in the Loud, trying to figure
out
How I'm—supposed to love—-without you.
Don't you know?--Your love's—--the missing piece… her sweet falsetto elevated the melody
entwined with their rhythm,
her voice blending seamlessly with the
harmony of their bodies. Together, they
reached new heights of pleasure, their love
igniting like a flame against the quiet
backdrop of the night. She could feel there love grew into quiet rebellion against a city that
sought to control even the intangible.
As their melody climaxed,she stared out of the window while she rested her hand on Jack's
chest her mind shudder as it's drifted to thoughts of The World made up of cold conformity
made of many
unseen eyes cold unyielding
" Always watching leaving no moment of respite untouched, even now"
Jack is could feel her body tense
"everything okay?"
"ever feel like somethings watching you?"
"Whenever I'm in Saint Francis" Jack gave a cheeky smirk.
Karolina placed her face to of his " Let them watch" she kissed him passionately and they
resumed their rhythm embracing until The Cold World pulls them apart.
—
Sub-Chapter: Cringe
Beneath the dome's indigo sky, a shadowed figure finished watching Karolina and Jack vanish
into the distance, their laughter a faint echo in the sterile streets of Saint Francis. Crimson eyes
glinted with sorrow as tears carved paths down their weathered face. With a heavy sigh, the
figure turned away, retreating to a car parked under the lonely glow of a streetlamp.
The vehicle hummed to life, its dashboard casting muted hues across the driver's gaunt
features. A haunting melody spilled from the speakers, wrapping itself around the air like a
ghost.
"I know I said I wouldn't call,
But your love… was… all I had,
And now… I just… wanna say… goodbye…"
The figure's voice cracked as they sang along, the notes dripping with raw, unfiltered pain.
Every syllable was a wound, every phrase a cry for something lost. They sang until the song
faded, its mournful tune swallowed by the quiet of the streets as the car pulled into the shadow
of a nondescript apartment block.
--
Inside, the dim light of the hallway flickered, struggling to stay alive. As the door creaked open,
the sharp click of tiny paws echoed across the apartment floor. Diabound, a sleek deerhead
chihuahua with caramel fur and a white chest patch, sprinted toward the figure. His large,
expressive eyes shimmered with excitement, and his pointed ears perked up as his tiny tail
wagged furiously.
Diabound jumped up, his small but sturdy body pressing against his owner's legs. His loyalty
was as fierce as his bark, which he used liberally to ward off strangers and assert dominance
over anything that dared cross his path—be it another dog or the vacuum cleaner.
"Alright, alright, I missed you too," the figure said with a tired smile, scooping up the little dog.
Diabound immediately began licking their face with fervor, his stubby legs kicking in excitement.
"You're all I've got, buddy," they whispered, burying their face in Diabound's soft fur. The
chihuahua, though stubborn by nature, sensed the heaviness in their tone and nuzzled closer,
his loyalty unwavering.
"Goodnight, pal," they said, gently tucking Diabound into his small, cozy bed lined with a blanket
that bore paw prints. Diabound circled twice before settling in, his large ears twitching as he
gazed at his owner with soulful eyes.
In the bathroom, the figure caught their reflection in the mirror. From a jacket pocket, they pulled
out a crinkled piece of foil, shaking out a fine whitish-yellow powder that glinted in the dim light.
With the flick of a lighter, the powder turned to smoke, filling their lungs with a poisonous calm.
They slid down against the cold tile floor, their breathing slowing, tears spilling over once more
until they drifted into a fitful sleep.
--
The alarm clock's shrill blare ripped through the morning stillness. Groaning, they pulled
themselves off the couch where they had collapsed. Diabound was already awake, sitting on the
edge of his bed with a regal posture that betrayed his diminutive size.
"Morning, king," they muttered, giving him a half-smile as he yipped in response.
After letting Diabound out for his morning routine and giving him a quick breakfast of kibble with
a splash of gravy, the figure stepped out the door, the weight of the day pressing against them.
--
At the soup kitchen, they moved through the motions, ladling soup, passing bread, and cleaning
plates. To the hungry, their smile was a brief ray of warmth in an otherwise cold world. "Here you
go," they'd say softly, patting a shoulder or offering a kind word.
Later, the dusty field of the community park came alive with shouts and laughter as the figure
coached a group of kids in a baseball game. Their voice was steady, authoritative, yet kind.
"Life's like this game," they said, kneeling to meet the eyes of one of the kids. "Sometimes you'll
miss, sometimes you'll strike out. But you keep swinging, alright? Never take it for granted."
The kids cheered when the game ended, waving as the figure walked away.
--
Back home, Diabound greeted them with his usual vigor, leaping up as though they'd been gone
for days instead of hours. They chuckled, scooping him up and giving him a kiss on the nose.
"Missed me, huh?" they said, their voice softer now. Diabound barked in reply, wagging his tail.
Inside the dimly let apartment.The hours ticked by in a quiet haze. Vincenti Rivers ran a hand
through his disheveled hair, his crimson eyes staring blankly at a photo on the wall. It was an old
picture of him and Karolina, taken during simpler times. His throat tightened as he traced the
edges of the frame with trembling fingers.
"We were so young," he whispered, his voice breaking. Diabound barked, snapping him out of
his thoughts. "Yeah, buddy, I know. I'm all you've got now."
Later, as he stood on the balcony, the city lights below blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors. "I'm
sorry, Karolina," he murmured, the wind carrying his words into the void. For a moment, he
"Love is like matter; it can never be truly destroyed, only repurposed. Once we hit rock bottom,we become open to salvation."
The camera feed from the street below captured only the silhouette of his final moments.
Witnesses later claimed to have seen the figure fall, but no one knew what had happened
before the railing gave way.
As he fell, the cityscape blurred into streaks of light, the wind tearing at their hair. The ground
rushed to meet them, but in that moment, they felt strangely free, as though they had finally
escaped something invisible yet suffocating.
Excerpt from "A Hymn of Hope" by Leonardo Corepredor of the Ministry of Amoraé:
"Love is like matter; it can never be truly destroyed, only repurposed. Once we hit rock bottom,we become open to salvation."
."