The New Law

On the day the capitol fell, everything was alive. Your senses returned to your body, and you were aware of everything around you; birds on the far telephone pole calling each other, the slight breeze that swept past your legs. Life had returned to the city. For the first time in a long time, I actually looked up at the sky. It was a light blue, with wispy white painted clouds swirling in the wind. No more jets flew overhead, no more patrol helicopters. The only thing in the air was the song of the birds, and the cheer of people. I look to my left, watching a whole crowd of people pull an allied driver out of a tank, and raise him in praise. The whole city celebrated in a giant party. Everyone from thieves to house wives invited to this one party, the day we took the capital.

I remembered the day I got my commercial pilots license. I remember my first commercial flight. The black and white suit I wore freshly ironed, with the American Airlines name tag that clearly stated “Austin”. (The name my mother had given me. It was one of the only things I had of her.) That day I had walked aboard a new a321; 180 passengers and a 2 hour flight. Everything went to plan, and we touched down in New York. . Flying commercially was probably the best feeling I have ever had. You felt free, actually free. That was a feeling I missed a lot. When the country enforced marshal law, it was 4 years after I had flown the first time. At this time I was flying Airbus’s new model of the A380. This baby came with fully equipped with four thermal jets (80% faster and more efficient then the A380’s previous GE model engines), and a completely configurable cabin, able to comfortably sleep all passengers in a horizontal position. I was out of the country, and when the “new law” was implemented, all American flights where ordered home. The moment we crossed American shores, we were promptly met by 3 fully armed F22’s. They guided us to the nearest airport, regardless of our destination, and were ordered to land. This meant I had to take multiple bus rides to end up back in Colorado. Nothing felt right; there was a hostile presence about everything. New “police” where stationed just about everywhere. You were never too sure of their intentions. It always seemed that at any moment they could just snap, and shoot the whole place up. When I arrived in Denver CO, My first stop was to the airport where my car was parked. The ride from the airport use to by my favorite part, the feeling of being home, making your way to your house. In which you haven’t seen in a while. Most typically I would have a maid come around every week or so, (depending on how long I was gone) and clean my bed, remaining laundry, etc. This time, making my way “home” wasn’t so pleasant. Stopping about every 3 miles to be inspected by these “new toll booths” the government has implemented. If you ask me, they were check points in which the government would catch people trying to plot against them and such, all a part of the “New law”.  Finally after driving 20 miles home, I get to my house. Our neighborhood was almost not recognizable. The only reason I even knew it was my house was because of the numerous nights I drove home in the dark, it became second nature. The house to my left seemed to have been abandoned, and the house to my right had a gaping hole in it where some type of explosive shell had entered it, destroying the inside, and most likely the people inside. I never really knew my neighbors, so seeing this didn’t really strike a chord with me. It also probably was due to the fact that I had flown 16 hours to get here to this hell hole. I unlock the door, hesitant to open it. The day I bought the house flashes in my mind. The relator lady also comes to mind. I remember her trying her hardest to sell me the property. Granted it did have a nice over look of the city, but it was no were in any condition to be called a livable home. The kitchen, 2 bathrooms, and master bedroom all had leaks, due to the poor condition of the roof. All of the carpet smelt like mold, and to make long story short, it was a lot of trips to Home depot, and around $10,000 to get it to what it is now. I turned the door knob. The door freely swung wide. Reveling exactly what I had left. The composition of this home consisted of the cheap living room set (1 couch and 3 chairs, side tables not included) straight ahead, facing my look out over the city. Directly to my left by the door way where I still stand was a coat closet, and a picture of the Eiffel tower. (Yet again was a nice buy at IKEA). To the right was the entrance to the kitchen. I close the door, drop my bags where I stand, and make my way to the kitchen. All redone, I had a stainless steel fridge, accompanied by the matching dish washer and sink. (Home Depots deals are really unbeatable). All topped with fake granite counter tops, and “modern gray” cabinets. I take a glass from the clean dishwasher and poor myself water. I take the second entrance to the kitchen which leads to a hallway the connected to the living room, and my bedroom. Drinking my water, I stumble to my bedroom door, and half assly opening it, only pulling down on the knob enough to let the latch come free from the door frame. I again stand and stare at my nicely cleaned bedroom. In front of me, I see my California king bed, with a cheap Target bed set. To my right is my personal bathroom, and to the left is the door to my balcony, where I would often sit the night before a long trip. For being a commercial pilot, I really never liked leaving home. Home was always a base of safety to me, a place I could call my haven. I would sit on a chair and sip tea, listening to the cars and trucks roar inside the brightly lit city, and occasionally hear the wail of a police car in the distance. It always seemed to cut the edge off of leaving home. When my house was home.