Torn Apart

It was a relatively quiet ride to the chambers, apart from the wailing sounds of our siren and honking every now and then to cut through the building traffic. Griffin and I rode in the front, while the rest of the team cruised in the back. It had been this way since forever.

As we pulled into the carpark, I quickly stuck my head out the window and, out of habit, turned to check whether the hoses on the side of the truck were ready to go. Not that I would need them today anyway, I thought to myself. Today I had a different job.

We pulled to a screeching halt right in front of the front façade. Griffin, as always, quickly jumped out and started to pull his gear onto himself. On the other hand, I was still snuggled in my seat, relentlessly trying to figure out the most ideal spot in the building to carry out my plan. One with less foot traffic, hidden from view while maximising damage and impact was the place to be. With that, I flung the backpack over my shoulder, before heading out to join the crew one last time.

As soon as we pushed through the endless crowds of people rushing out the door, screaming and fearing for their lives, a thick blanket of smoke immediately reduced any clear lines of vision within the building.

“HELP!”

The alarm bells started ringing as soon as I left my seat to grab a coffee.

“Let’s move!”

Unfazed, I continued marching to the coffee machine, desperate to chug down one last flat white before heading off on the final mission. I was quickly stopped in my tracks when I felt a tug on my collar.

“Wrong way, sucker. Get moving.”

I sighed and reluctantly obliged. The prospect of events veering off-course sat at the back of my mind. I knew that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity and that we had to make the most of it.

Griffin, as always, had already occupied his usual seat. As he sat hunched over, tightly clenching his shiny bottle in his right hand, I could see the veins popping out of his neck. He hadn’t changed since our high school days — tall and athletic, sharp eyes, bushy eyebrows and a commanding tone. Yet at forty-six, many of us, including I, had expected that he would have gone onto other things years earlier, politics at the top of his bucket list. He came from a political background — his old man served as the local member for over twenty years. Every time politics was brought up, he would become like a spokesman for all politicians, promoting the government.

Like the rest of our crew, I certainly wasn’t amused. Back home in South Africa, the government had treated us like rubbish.

“Where are we off to now? Seems like quite the rush,” I asked, as I tried to find the matching buckle for my seatbelt.

“Sounds like the pollies decided to have a campfire in the chambers,” he coughed out, before swiftly dropping what remained of his cigarette out the window. He had always been an avid smoker and insisted on spending around a fifth of his salary purchasing the ‘finest’.

I followed the sound of the voice, clutching the metal grip of my hose in one hand while stretching the other to detect obstacles. There were flashing red lights and alarm sirens blaring loudly. If it weren’t for a smoke respirator, I would have been as flat as a pancake on the floor as soon as I took one whiff of the highly polluted air that lingered all around. It felt as though someone had opened the gates to hell and unleashed the devil.

The further I ran, the thicker the smoke grew and the blacker the surroundings became. Finally reaching the source of the noise, I ran my fingers across the gold plate on the door that read ‘CHAMBER’.

This was the ideal spot I had been searching for.

Ignoring the continuous pounding on the large wooden doors, I dropped my hose and quickly unloaded my backpack, pulling out the package and its activation switch.

The flames would have engulfed the chamber building by now, sending balls of smoke hurling metres into the air. People would have gathered in their hundreds to watch the ghastly sight of what supposedly was the most secure building in the country, burnt to a crisp in a matter of hours.

The thought of a widespread audience felt satisfying.

“What are you doing?”

I jumped and turned around to see Griffin metres away, staring straight at me.

“I quit.”

“You quit? Right now? We have a job to do!”

I shook my head as I shifted my gaze to the floor.

“You see, the world is a cold and dark place. No matter how many protests are held, nothing ever changes. Nothing. There has been no progress. Every month, we have a handful of phonies congregating in the chambers of power, of the ‘elected government’, chat amongst themselves about the failures of society and what changes they could collectively make to try to save the world. They try, and they fail miserably. Every time, they fall short of community expectation.”

“What the hell are you talking about right now?” Griffin shouted, looking at me in disbelief. “Are you out of your mind? What is going on?”

“There is one reason why they decide to sit in those chairs,” I continue, gesturing towards the firmly shut doors. “They are motivated by their self-interest, by the influence they hold over society’s affairs. Now, we will finally see change. Now, Floyd will not have died for nothing. 2020 will be etched in history as the year people of all cultures and races were recognised as equals.”

Griffin opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Time had stopped him in his tracks.