Year: 2037 Late April
"All right class, would you guys be terribly disappointed if we stopped a little early today?"
The Teacher's offer was met with enthusiastic cheers.
"I thought so! You are dismissed."
His happy students charged out of the room talking excitedly. In a moment Teacher was left alone to wash the board and cough. The last bout left him a little dizzy and he had to sit down for a few minutes. He regained his composure and walked to the rear of the room, straightening the desks as he went. He picked up a book, closed the new door and turned around to take in the scene outside.
His students and their parents had gathered around a large open air grill. The smell of cooking food was rising in the air. In this case the main course was a rare delicacy - fish. A wagon fashioned from a large tank stood nearby. The two horses which pulled it had been unhitched and were standing patiently nearby. A manger with food had been placed close enough for them to eat.
Last fall some of the men had cut the top off of the tank and filled it part way with water, which became ice in the winter cold. Snow filled the rest of the tank. They put the top back on and insulated the sides with various materials so it would take a long time for the ice to melt. A week ago these adventurers left town bound for the coast. They reappeared last night with the tank full of various specimens of large, beautiful fish. The ice kept their catch fresh for this day.
Here was the start of what in the old world would be called spring break. School was in recess for three days. Teacher was all right with the time off because he would need to study. Last fall he traded for three coveted books, all printed in the 21st century. Well, what used to be called the 21st century anyway. That means of reckoning would no longer be necessary. The world at large ceased counting any time before the Great Darkness. This was year sixteen by the current calendar. Teacher looked down at the text. 'Engineering Mechanics, vol. 6'. It was a college textbook, but his students could handle it. Their math skills were first rate. He placed the book on the outcropping of an old wall for the moment. He would pick it up after the party. Taking a deep breath, he found that his lung didn't hurt as much as usual. The warm sun was doing him good. His limp was less noticeable too.
Teacher mingled with the crowd and greeted everyone with a slight smile and a nod. Several parents complimented him for his efforts at school. Pretty soon he was eating heartily while the adventurers, happy to be at the center of attention, described their expedition.
At the end of the Great Darkness, the sea, like the skies above, were black with all manner of poison and disease. But they cleared quickly. Now, the fishermen said, the waters were clean and almost clear as glass. Their aquatic excursions took them directly over the city that used to be Los Angeles. It now more closely resembled Atlantis. The shattered and ruined skyscrapers rose out of the water like mute sentinels. At low tide the boats would cruise above what formerly was one of the most famous cities in the world. The crowd hung on to every word as they described trolling the grid of streets, watching fish and sharks swim where luxury cars used to drive, some forty feet below.
Teacher finished his last piece of fish and followed it with a gulp of milk. At this moment the townspeople were gathering to play. The songfest would be starting soon. He worked his way to the edge of the crowd and quietly retreated back to the wall where he had placed his textbook. From this vantage point he could listen and thumb through the book. The difference between he and them was never more apparent. They were now, the present and future generations. That's why he felt so driven to teach as much as his skills and (prodigious) memory could remember. His students were the first generation of this New World. They would set the bar for everyone to follow. He wanted them to be capable as possible. But even though he felt good right now, teacher knew that his life was waning away. He belonged to another age, one gone forever. Only a few of his generation survived the upheavals that killed about 80% of the world's populace.
The music started. Teacher put the book down and rubbed his eyes. it was getting hard to concentrate.....
August, 2012
"Hey, do you have a second?" It was one of the delegates.
Charles nodded, "Just a moment." And turned to the reporter to finish his answer.
His life was now one meeting after another. Some were big, as in the one he had just finished, speaking to a crowd of over 2,000 in St Louis, Missouri. Others were small, sometimes at a restaurant, sometimes at an office. The proverbial 'smoke-filled room.'
Charles' kidnapping and dramatic rescue had done wonders for his campaign. He was courted by the networks for interviews. And his email and social media numbers went through the roof. These proved to be a boon at odd times. He found supporters just about everywhere he went. Some, especially those in the media would quietly cheer him on, especially if their superiors were hostile to his campaign. But coming into the Iowa Caucus he was still considered a serious underdog. The tendency was for the party elite to think of him as lucky, but lacking in substance.
Working with a national party proved to be exasperating at times. Even though they popularized themselves as the party of law and conservatism, often times they came out in opposition to Charles' proposals. Yet his team had carefully worked out the various positions based on voluminous input from all over the country. All his ideas were perfectly reasonable. Charles didn't let this get to him, instead, he concentrated on how positive the results would be for the country.
There were several moments when Charles thought he would be pushed out of the game, but every time he would impress someone enough to help him. These people were mostly what he called the 'old guard' members of the party. Very influential but not widely known. It turned out that the majority of those who claimed leadership were less interested in moving the party forward, and more interested in fundraising and the status quo. But the numbers simply weren't in his favor at this juncture. Not enough of the old guard types were willing to back him. So now what to do? He attempted two things, one was to approach the leadership of those delegates backing candidates who for one reason or another had dropped out. If he could convince them to roll their votes over to him, his numbers would increase automatically. The other strategy was to simply get as many of his own followers as possible to register as delegates. By the beginning of August fully half of the possible candidates had dropped out. Charles and his team had worked to exhaustion, but the stakes were too high for them to quit now.
It was a great day when Charles got the call. The old guard had talked at length about his viability as a candidate and thought his campaign had great appeal to the ordinary voter, as well as the momentum. Among the contenders he was in third place. The national convention in Miami was only two weeks away. Charles was ready for the national stage. 
No comments:
Post a Comment