Little wisps of smoke floated through the lazy afternoon air. The creak of an old, worn out rocking chair, the dull rumble of engines in the distance, the sound of gears shifting, and every now and then a faint pop. All these sounds snuck their way into this evening where the sun slowly moved down to kiss the horizon as it did, day after day. The scene is of a country side, rolling hills, fields of crops for miles. Small roads cut through the hills elegantly, connecting a number of sparsely placed farm houses and barns to each other. The farm houses themselves bare no noticeable difference from each other. Each are based on the same design. Each have the same deep red painted across them, making them seem rather odd among all the green around them. In one particular barn sits a man on his porch. Much like other porches it is a simple wooden deck, with an assortment of chairs, all hand made, strewn about its area. The man, much like many other man, sits in a rocking chair. The chair itself, like the man, bares the signs of age. Small chips of paint flake off here and there as it creaks with a silent pride of having endured storms for nearly as long as the person who sits in it ever afternoon to watch the sun set.
The man is a creature of habit, who, much like the chair, rocks back and forth every evening on that same porch. He smokes from the same pipe, which is always slipped between his chapped lips in the same place, leaving a small dark mark on them. He smokes the same tobacco each evening, for the same amount of time. He is perhaps in his late 40s, although he looks much older. His name is Sacha, and he is waiting for a friend.
This friend makes his journey from a neighboring farm, every afternoon. Much like Sacha he makes this journey every evening to Sacha’s farm, in particular, Sacha’s front porch. So, as usual Sacha watches his friend slowly walk up the path to him. The friend is younger than Sacha, perhaps in his early 30s, although he looks much younger. He stops before the two steps that lead up to Sacha’s porch, as he does every evening and waits patiently for Sacha to see him. He knows Sacha has seen him in the distance and that Sacha has followed his journey to those two steps leading up to the porch. Yet he waits, each evening, for roughly the same amount of time as Sacha looks off into the distance and puffs away at his pipe. Finally Sacha looks in his direction and takes the pipe out from between his lips. A few moments pass as they both look at each other, each with a small smile of acknowledgment, before Sacha nods and motions for him to sit.
“Good evening Hesperos” Sacha says as Hesperos took his seat in a sturdy chair beside him “you look well”
“Good evening Sacha” Hesperos shifted in his chair slightly, it was always an uncomfortable chair “and you”
“What brings you here on this fine evening” Sacha took another puff of his pipe
“Oh this and that” Hesperos replied “more tanks came through today”
“Mhm seems they are determined” Sacha gnawed a little on the tip of his pipe as his eyes followed a few tanks rolling down the narrow roads. They seemed so small and out of place , their dull steel-grey tones contrasting starkly with the lush greens of the fields around them. Like little fish swimming in a huge ocean of green.
“Pity though” Hesperos smirked as he crossed his legs “such a futile effort... I just don’t get it”
“Oh?” Sacha chuckled lightly “why futile?”
“Surely you do not think war is worth it Sacha?” Hesperos turned to Sacha, his face holding a look of mock surprise.
“Oh well, conflict is never wanted, and yes should be avoided” Sacha nodded to himself as he took yet another puff.
“It would be best if they would just give up wouldn’t it”
“No” Sacha turned his pipe over and tapped out the now completely burnt tobacco before reaching in his pocket and retrieving a small leather pouch. Carefully he removed a bit of ground tobacco leaves and slowly packed them into the pipe.
“And why not? They only cause more suffering and pain by resisting” Hesperos frowned as Sacha put pouch back in his pocket “more will die by resisting”
“Perhaps” Sacha replied calmly as he pulled out a small box of matches. He then proceeded to remove a match and with a flick of his wrist it was light. With equal care and skill of habit he placed the lite match into the pipe, carefully puffing and making the embers slowly grow in a vibrant orange. Finally he shook the match out and flicked it to the side “but perhaps death is better than a life under such rule”
“That seems rather foolish, especially coming from you Sacha. Tell me, wouldn’t more lives be saved by submitting than by fighting?”
“Sometimes you must fight to protect what you...”
“Don’t give me that Sacha” Hesperos frowned, wrinkles of annoyance building along his forehead “you yourself claim that fighting achieves nothing. How can you justify destroying so many lives? To protect what? Freedom? The dead are not free”
“It is better to be dead than be a slave of such people”
“They want nothing but to spread their light to all people, can’t you see that?”
“Does the darkness now masquerade as the light now? Do jackals hide behind the face of angels? Sacha laughed, wisps of smoke trailing from his mouth
“Fool, can’t you see? They only wish for peace!”
“War is peace? Slavery is freedom? The holes in your logic are many, friend. It was they who came crashing through defenseless homes. Tanks and all” Sacha gnawed on his pipe now, his eyes narrowing.
“That was only to stop the communi...”
“Bah! Communists, facists, lisist all names for the same demons who try to pry liberty from the few who still have the strength to resist them. I have seen what you speak of Hesperos. I have seen the fields of bodies, fallen like rotten wheat. People cut down like nothing. Innocence murdered for the crime of expression”
“You lose yourself to emotion Sacha”
“And you lose yourself my friend” Sacha huffed as he adjusted himself in his rocking chair “you speak of these people as if they are angels worthy of worship. Yet in their kingdom of “freedom” they have no voice, no thoughts, no actions of their own. They only see with eyes given to them by the state”
“Yet they prosper...”
“Oh? Do they prosper Hesperos? Are they happy? Do they look to the stars and dream? Or do they only see darkness when the look up into the night sky. The multitudes gasp for freedom Hesperos, they cannot cry, they cannot scream for they are being choked by the hand of slavery” Sacha rubbed his chin, sighing softly “so many lives they drown in their rage to conquer. So many lights they snuff out as if they mean nothing”
“You speak as if they are the devil incarnate, surely there is good in them”
“There is always good inside man. There is always a light in the dark. Yet their people cannot see it. It is to clouded by hatred and pride. And it is pride that strikes down the greatest of men”
“How can anyone hope to win Sacha? Against such odds. Against such hatred”
“We must win Hesperos”
“We cannot. Sacha I have a way to leave, to get out of all this misery. I have a way over the other side. Join me Sacha” Hesperos rose out of his chair and stared down at Sacha
“No”
“We can still live. We can be free still, it can’t be that bad”
“No”
“Do you not fear death Sacha?”
“I fear it like any other mortal man” Sacha lowered his pipe a troubled look coming across his face
“Then why?”
“Because I would rather die free than live in slavery Hesperos. They can come and they can try to take my freedom from me. They will have only my life”
“You are a fool”
Sacha thought for a moment, rocking gently in his chair as his eyes searched the contours of his pipe. Finally he looked up.
“Then I am a fool who is free”
“Russia will fall” Hesperos smirked finally as the sound of tanks grew closer. Their metal treads crushing the grass underneath, leaving a long trail of dirt. The sounds of boots swelled, theirsoles battering everything beneath them “St.Petersburg will be mine”
Sacha smiled as he fitted the pipe back into the corner of his mouth. Slowly he puffed, the white wisps of smoke slowly floating up and up until they mixed with the thick dark smoke of the nearing tank. Sacha had seen them, slowly working their way up to his farm house. Crushing his small white fence on the way. It would take a whole days work to repair it.
“One last chance Sacha” the troops out from behind the tank and marched up to Sacha’s front step, their guns held at their side. Their little blue uniforms seemed to clash with the red exterior of the house, making it an odd combination of red, blue and dull steel grey. Two soldiers then stepped up onto his porch, aligning themselves next to Hesperos. They slowly lowered their rifles until they were level with Sacha’s chest
“Paris will burn, Europe shall be free”
The short story was published by an anonymuos author. After gaining wide fame through circulation by papers all over Russia it was made into a short film. The film has been shown in nearly every theater across the Federation and has been even adapted for radio broadcasts.