Democracy

tower

**im so sorry this took so long. it's a bit of a short one. please comment and vote! also i have changed the way Tyler stutters after seeing a post (that was suspiciously specific to my story) that outlined how nervous stutters work. --might post the post above but i'll have to do it through my phone so ahh-- enjoy!*

Even with the small trail of blood rolling down her face, Dian still manages to smile widely at her victory. Her grin lights the carriage up with a delirious feeling. It's as if the group have only just realised that they are there. That they are living in the grandest and most decorated building in the country. That they are hanging out with a prince, which is what most people insist I am, who they have only ever seen on a stage, silent. That they will fight for a life away from the suffering they have had to endure for the first part of their existence.

I quickly grow tired of the feeling hanging in the air of the carriage and move forward into the separate part of the train where the driver works. I take a seat behind him. Glowing in front of him is a panel of lights that illuminate the section, a sharp difference to the deep shadows in the main carriage. Noise whirs about the room. I imagine that if I were exposed to the sound for long, I would soon be deaf; the driver, already missing his ears, would not have to worry about this problem.

Pressing a palm on his back, I soon realise, from the quiver of shock he experiences, that the man had no idea I was there. Fear and surprise features in his expression strongly but he soon masks his emotions with neat practised smile. I ask him to stop in the town of region 3 and then carry on to drop the remaining passengers off. Slowly, he nods knowing full well he has to cooperate or find my father placing his head on a pike.

Before leaving, I tell Silo to take care of the team and ensure they all return to the dorm.

Lines of pollution scar the violent sky broken and torn by the stars littered about the night. Although an uncomfortable position to hold, I keep my head craned upwards to watch the night as I walk. Shadows swathe my body since I have chosen, as usual, to walk in the shadow of the tower. The weak flickering streetlights struggle to illuminate my way.

My steps are almost silent, however at some points I slip on the icy pavement and a rock rolls away triggering an echo of excruciating sounds that would be insignificant if it weren't so late. At times, I run my hand across the edge of the standing towers. The building materials are coarse and several loose nails stick out from the edge of the monuments. Whilst I wander past one tower, not unlike the rest, a shrill scream, powerful enough to shake my body and prickle my skin, tumbles from a higher level of the tower. Brushing off shudders, I continue my walk. Cries are the next noise to come from the tower. Wails of terrible magnitude and a horrifyingly high pitch. It's a baby. Without thinking, I begin to scramble up the unstable rungs that ride up the building towards the sky. When the wails seem close, I swing myself into the hovel that people seem content to call their home. Instantly I am hit by the waves of a sweaty damp heat and the putrid stench of rotting walls. The floor is bare, save for a crumple of blankets which have, intertwined within their moth-eaten wraps, a small baby inside. In comparison to his frail body which looks as if it could collapse with a single touch, its head is bloated. Devastation crowds my body as I look down at the trembling figure. I fall to my knees and begin to cradle the screaming child. Soon he succumbs into a slumber that he was probably too terrified to fall into. Maybe he won't wake up.

How could somebody let this happen? Who would put their child through such torture?

The answer is of course, somebody who has no other options. Somebody who has already been bled dry and starved and neglected themselves that they see no other life for their child. I have no doubt that they'd still praise the president for their life. Why does nobody recognise his hand in the city's harshness?