A Pencil and Some Paper

War?

The meeting was held in the old, creaky town house that reeked of mice and evening coffee. Men from multiple towns and cities crowded around a small wooden table covered in papers, delicate white glasses and sprinkled with the discarded round spectacles of the elders. Hideous shouts cut through the jumbled dialogue every once in a while; they were the yells of angry representatives attempting to get their point across. Some protested, "No! It's not worth it!" and others exclaimed things like, "We have no choice! It must be done!" Suddenly, one extremely tall and handsome man slammed his fist on the table angrily, accidentally spilling his cup of coffee. He ignored it. He was convinced of one and one thing only, and he made his statement loud and clear: "The fight for independence is worth the consequences of war because of the fact that Britain's laws partially control us, King George III refused peace, and we deserve the right to purchase things like tea from wherever we choose!"

But not everyone agreed. More men elevated off their seats, and infuriated fingers were pointed accusingly. "Just think!" The good-looking man shouted. "Don't you remember the terrible Intolerable Acts? Don't you remember how Britain shut down ports? Took our jobs? Think back, think back! Remember how miserable we were when our town meetings were banished and we were constrained to take care of the miserable whining soldiers in red coats? If we turn down war, Britain will never back down! Soon we'll be nothing more than pathetic little slaves! Their atrocious laws will just keep getting worse!"

The man's speech resulted in a moment of silence. The chirps of crickets sliced through the crisp night air in the background. Suddenly, one of the older men shakily stood up, fumbling for his glasses that he had deserted when the meeting had started; he figured he wouldn't need to be reading too much, the others usually did the reading aloud. But why not look more professional when addressing representatives from all 13 colonies? "I think this young man is right," He started in a scratchy voice. "If we let this go on, England might do more than control us here. That blasted Tea Act would be a fine example, maybe the King will force us to buy other things from only certain places! Remember how bad that tea was?" The white-headed man stuck his tongue out and pointed to it immaturely, to the dislike of some others.

"I'm leaving! This is preposterous! To think, you would consider war against our mother country!" A middle aged man screamed as he stomped out the door. Two or three more loyalists scurried after him, eager to get away from the squabble.

Then the dapper man spoke again: the last person to speak officially during the meeting. "And our Olive Branch Petition, please don't forget that." He stated quietly. "The king refused a peaceful solution. And if we can't have a peaceful solution, the only other option is war." With that, he scooped up a fur hat and gathered his spilled coffee mug, wiping up the drink with the edge of his jacket. "Please ponder this deeply until our next meeting." And then the meeting was officially over. He began trotting towards the door, but just before he stepped over the threshold into the chilly, starry, windy night, he pivoted back towards the crowd on his left heel.

"Remember, the fight for independence is worth the consequences of war because of the fact that Britain's laws partially control us, King George III refused peace, and we deserve the right to purchase things like tea from wherever we choose. Men, I'm begging you, side with me. At this point, war is our only option. Good night." And then the well-groomed, towering man slipped into the dark claws of night, the sole light of the moon casting his shadow upon the ground as the sharp chirps of the crickets grew gradually as if they were cheering for the man and the thought of war.

And suddenly, all was silent.

It was an omen, and omen that something horrible was coming.