Fresta Kingdom, North Blue
Back in the city Elara's grandmother was living her own quiet torture.
In the giant loud textile mill, she sat on a bench with hundreds of other women. Her job was to sew the symbol of the revolutionary army and onto the soldier's uniforms. The work was boring and it never ever ended. The puppet bosses who walked up and down the rows of women only cared about how fast they worked.
Her fingers which used to make beautiful detailed patterns on clothes now became red which is bleeding from the sharp needles. Which make her feel the constant pain. But the pain in her body was nothing compared to the sad thoughts that went around and around in her head.
'Elara my sweet girl,' she thought, her mind a constant loop of worry. 'Are you warm? Are you hungry? Are you scared? What condition would be you are in?' With every single stitch she sewed into the revolutionary army symbol, she thought about her granddaughter.
The men who announced this new rule had called it a "great honor," but she knew that was a lie. It was a kidnapping. She imagined the "special training facilities" as cold place where children were not taught how to read books or play games but how to march and fight and forget the people who loved them. This thought hurt her more than any needle ever could.
She looked at the woman sitting next to her. She was a young mother whose own son had been taken away. The young mother was crying. Her tears were running down her face and dripping onto the revolutionary army's uniform that she was sewing.
But at this moment an overseer with cold eyes stopped right behind her.
"Your tears will ruin the uniform," the overseer said in its flat, robot voice. "Stop crying and work faster otherwise you will be considered as threat to the revolution."
The young mother looked like she had been slapped on the face. She quickly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and put her head down and started focusing on her sewing. Her whole body was shaking with the sobs and tears which she was trying to hold inside.
Finally the sun set and the bells rang to signal the end of the workday.
But they were not free to go home and rest. The hard work was over but the day's duties were not. The blacksmith and his wife walked slowly towards their home through the dark streets. Their bodies were screaming with pain and tiredness and their stomachs were already been hurting from hunger again.
Finally they get inside their house. Their house did not feel like a home anymore. It was just a became place between one sad day and the next day. When they get inside their house first thing they did was to do the 'prayer' on the picture of Monkey D. Dragon. The picture of Monkey D. Dragon on the wall seemed to be making fun of them. They did their evening 'prayer' their movements even slower and more painful than they were in the morning.
And then came the last and most hated part of the day.
As the kingdom became quiet and dark a new sound started: the sound of marching boots but this time it was slower.
It was the 'Guardians of the Future'.
Their job was to make sure everyone was following the last and most private and personalized rule. They walked slowly down every street, and their lanterns made long scary shadows dance on the walls. They would stop outside of every house and listen the intimate sounds of the couple. They have to make sure that people are performing their intimate duty or not.
Inside the blacksmith and his wife lay on their bed. They knew what the soldiers wanted them to do. The revolution needed more people. They were ordered to "do their duty and produce as many offspring they can." But this thought made them feel sick, very sick. They hated every part of this rule but they can't do anything againt it. The hunger, the sadness and the tiredness - it had killed any feelings of love or warmth between them. All that was left was a sad quiet misery that both shared.
They heard the ''one memeber of the Guardians of the Future'' stop right outside their window. They both held their breath. A line of light from his lantern came through a crack in the shutters. The light moved across their room like a quiet judging eye. The silence in the room felt very loud and wrong.
The blacksmith felt a sudden hot feeling of pure hate towards this person. He hated the soldiers outside his window. He hated the man in the picture on his wall. He hated the word "revolution." Then He looked at his wife which is tired and had sad eyes, he saw the same hate looking back at him. It was the one of few thing they had left to share.
After a few moments the light from the lantern moved on.
The sound of the footsteps faded away down the street. They were safe for tonight. They lay in the darkness next to each other. Each of them was trapped in their own sad nightmare. The pain in their stomachs was a constant reminder of their stolen food. The empty space on other bed was a constant reminder of their stolen grandchild and his son and his son's wife. The ache in their bodies was a constant reminder of their stolen freedom. And the silence in the room was a constant reminder of their stolen hope.
Finally the blacksmith closed his eyes. He did not pray for a better tomorrow. He did not believe in better tomorrows anymore.
He only prayed for a deep empty sleep with no dreams. A sleep that would let him escape for just a few hours before the morning bell rang and the nightmare started all over again.