Story of the Week

D and P sat outside of a cafe eating stale bread and drinking tea. The waiter was nowhere to be seen.
"D," said P, "you and I agree on a lot of things." D knew this meant P was about to disagree with him about something. "But I cannot agree that they are right for us right now." D sipped his tea and looked inside the cafe, where a few patrons sat at wooden tables, cracked and rotting.  Broken table legs and chairs were propped up against the windows like weapons. They waited there patiently in case they needed to be used as such again.

"I don't think they are the best," said D, slowly. "But I think right now they're the best we've got."

"We should not rush into this or we'll just have again what we've always had," responded P quickly, as if he already knew what D would say. "No. Now is the time to restart." He thrust his index finger down on the table and it wobbled dumbly, appearing to nod in agreement. "We must do this right." D looked down at his bread and peeled off the parts that were too tough to eat. His stomach grumbled angrily, perhaps wondering how he could possibly waste food when he had barely eaten for days.

"Maybe you are right," D whispered. He was feeling very tired and hadn't the energy for an argument. One week ago, he would have stood and spoken passionately about the need for compromise. About the need for radical change. Now instead, he felt at his arm, and peeled back the bandage. It was not healing well. Instead of seeking treatment for the cut, he'd gone on fighting. Two days after sustaining the wound, it had been crudely bandaged without a thorough cleaning. Now it was infected. D felt ambivalence about it. It no longer hurt, at least not in comparison to his head and his stomach. "P, what is the next step?"

"If they get their way, sham meetings followed by sham elections followed by another sham government."

"I don't believe the elections will be a sham. People will vote for them...because they'll be the only ones on the ballot," said D sarcastically. P smirked and shook his head. Five teenage boys walked by, laughing and telling jokes. Their bodies were covered in bandages. One boy was still bleeding from his head. It was a calm day, but D did not feel calm inside. He felt more anxiety now than he'd felt in the last week. The violence had quelled and now it was time to see if it had all been worth it.