Silent Tensions Escelate on the International Fromt

 I hate gym, apparently my hand-eye coordination is even poorer then I initially thought, this would rank me in the category of mentally fucking retarded.  We’re playing tennis in gym and I swear to God I’m awful. Even when I knew I would have no chance of hitting the ball I’d swing anyway, every time I’d swing and miss the ball, and the few glorious times that I did hit that damn ball It usually went the totally wrong direction. I really thought I’d never say this but I think I’m better at football then tennis because tennis requires me whacking a small green ball with a stick.  I guess I should never become a snotty rich person at a country club… because then without a doubt I would humiliate myself to those snooty “ha ha” laughs all the aristocrats stereotypically give in the movies. I am a complete failure at anything athletic.

It is almost one in the morning; you’ve slept all week and are not tired. You hop a southbound train to Sector One in Budgie City. Sector one is home to the skyscrapers, financial district, thousands of offices, and of course Government Boulevard. You get off at the Government Boulevard station and decide to simply walk around; most May Day decorations are in place. The ornate green streetlights with their intricate cast iron scroll work are all draped with red banners, the huge government skyscrapers are draped with various banners and flags. The 70 story Executive Office building, the largest building in Budgie City has a massive GFR flag hanging from it; it looks beautiful illuminated in the night by the huge spotlights.  The traffic is minimal, and the Military Police don’t mind pedestrians in the middle of the night. You wonder what this years May Day will be like, this is your first May Day in Budgie City, the holiday was much less celebrated in St. Mary’s probably because there was less places to hang flags, banners, slogans, and propaganda. Also the fact that most streets weren’t wide enough to accommodate tanks, missile launchers, and APC’s didn’t help. You look back and think that perhaps it would be best if you could turn back time and stop all the events of the past several years from happening. If you could remove all the tar from your lungs, bring back all the brain cells the booze killed, stopped the scars from forming on your heart. Start all over with a clean pure slate. You sometimes wonder if you are living life on the edge of your morals, or perhaps you fell off the cliff. In any case you sometimes have a desire to clean up your act. Most of the time though you realize that there is millions of people out there in far worst situations, probably billions. So as a matter of fact your life isn’t that bad. It’s just the fact you sometimes think you did certain things too fast back in St. Mary’s. That’s how you got to where you are today as you stand in front of the Plaza of 10 Government Blvd, home of the Executive Offices. You briefly look up, as the sound of the fountain in front of the building plays it's theraputic melody, you break out of the trance and keep walking. You walk past the 8BD Telephone building, past the 8BD Labor Committee Offices, past it all.  A MP officer approaches, he is in his spring out fit. “You got an extra smoke?” “Sure” you reply and briefly fish through your pocket. “Thanks man” he says. You keep walking…