1It lasted a short time. The riots, the mobs, the rebellion. The war for freedom, all around the world. It lasted for a span of a month or two – maybe three, if one counted the more secret rebellion, the movements not broadcasted and made public. But, just because it was short, didn't mean it didn't have an effect.
The entire idea had been to overthrow the hold the media had on the world. All the commercials, the advertisements, everything that brainwashed the people had been the enemy. The governments had been targeted – years of being left unchecked had corrupted the systems, made them unreliable. The government had supported and been supported by the media and big business. The two went hand in hand. The police looked the other way so long as it didn't interfere with the government. If you had money and a name, you had power and fame.
But he changed it. Some kid from the streets, with no money, no name, had taken hold of the power, and the people had given him the fame, all by themselves. He started the rebellion, and announced its end. The government had underestimated him and had collapsed because of it. He had revolted against the mind controlling tactics of the media, and had rejected the authority of the government. He had rallied the people against domination. And he did it without anyone ever knowing his name.
After it settled down and people started rebuilding, he disappeared, just like that.
And all anyone had left were a few pictures stolen by cameras.
I had lived through the rebellion. I had been a part of it. I was fifteen when it started; at first I had treated it as some kind of joke. But then when police stormed our house one night, looking for supporters, I knew it wasn't a game, and if it was a joke, it was fucked to high heaven. I remember what it felt like to wake up in the middle of the night, my heart pounding and my ears stinging from my mother's startled scream. I heard glass shatter and heavy footsteps. My sister had woken up groggily, and I could hear her sleepy voice asking my mother what was the matter. I remember how fast my mind had been whirring right then. I remembered seeing something about this on a notice on the side of a building the week before – I had dismissed it as some lunatic trying to scare people. Why would the police break into some one's house and arrest them solely on basis of suspicion? Suspicion based on a word here, a look there... But now, with them in my house, I knew what was going to happen. Quick as I could, and as quietly, I jumped out of bed, grabbed a heavy jacket, my shoes, and as much money as I could grab, then slipped out the window, nervously eyeing the door. I managed to shoot down the street a few blocks before actually thinking about my next move – and wondering if they were going to track me down.
A few of the rebels saw me that night. They were out hunting for people like me. People who had known about the police raids and had escaped, wandering the night looking for a place to hide. They picked me up quick and brought me back to what I guess you could call a hide out. It was really just a bunch of people, more like a network of people, stretched out along a line of alleys, always moving, and never in the same place. I asked a few people who the leader was. They said they had no leader. I wondered, then, if these really were rebels, or if they were keeping the information from me in case I wasn't safe. Hell, maybe most of these people really didn't think they had a leader.
I found out though, that they had a leader. He wasn't the real leader, but he sort of kept the order. The leader of the entire rebellion, well, I never met him. I'd seen a few blurry pictures, and heard a whole lot about him, but I never saw him in person. What was funny about the entire thing was that this guy, whoever he was, didn't really give orders or tell people what to do. He sort of just... well, did something, and the rest followed, if they wanted. And... they wanted. He'd riot at a certain place, they'd riot with him. He started sabotaging media feeds, they started sabotaging media feeds. It was funny in a way. It was like we were playing 'monkey see, monkey do.' I know that the only real interacting we had with him, besides following him around like half crazed lunatics, was when he had info about the government that we could use. Not to hurt the government, just to keep ourselves safer.
I guess he was weird that way. But everyone loved him, anyway.
Four years later, way after everything had settled down, I was surprised that such a short rebellion could have such a strong effect. I reasoned it had something to do with the guy's ability to stay a couple hundred steps in front of the enemy, and his erratic attacks and maneuvers. Sometimes, I had no idea what we had been thinking as we followed him to some of the mostly unlikely of places for a rebellion.
But it really changed the way things are – it's weird, but there's some kind of unspoken rule book everyone abides by. It was probably inspired by the original rebel himself. People just started calling him X since he never proffered a name himself. So, well, we sort of followed his example. We didn't cheat each other... well, not that I could see, anyway, and I see a lot. I'm not saying we made some perfect society, but the main idea was that there would be no government to regulate the people. We would have no media and propaganda telling us what to think or do or say or want or be. We struggled with life as always, I can assure you that, but something had opened our eyes and told us that it was not about coming out ahead of the game. It was how you played.
Or maybe that was just what the rebellion taught me. Just me. I never really talked about it with anyone, so I couldn't be sure. All I knew is that we were no longer being repressed. The funny thing was, as soon as the government had fallen, people had followed X's line of thought – money became valueless. No one had valuables or anything, or bank notes or was considered a millionaire. We just sort of coexisted instead of finding ways to profit at someone else's expense or wondering how something could help ourselves. People no longer worked in assembly lines, no longer trudged through horrible days, each minute making them long for it to end more acutely. Instead, people found something they liked. Something they were good at. They found that, and did it. It was simple.
You may think, but what happened to industry? To household items, to food, to clothing, to crap like that? Oh, it's still around. But now we don't have people telling us what we should and shouldn't eat, drink, wear, or have. People still produced – some people liked making clothes.
It felt pretty odd, let me tell you. I was used to money exchanging hands, to people obsessing over what they looked like, how they ate, what people would think about them. Something about X's rebellion, though, made people, I don't know, go uncrazy or something. Yeah, some thirteen-year-old kid changed the entire freaking world. Sounds pretty crazy, but that's how it happened.
So now, four years after it happened, everything's going fine. Well, not everything. You can't stop life from happening, I know that. So there's still teen drama going around, like some girl likes the same guy her best friend likes and stuff like that. And people still have affairs. People get angry. We wouldn't be human without it – but now we really don't have propaganda to make us even more miserable just to sell products.
Actually, a good example of how life is shaped is happening right now as I'm thinking about all this. I smiled at the clerk behind the desk as I went into the grocery store, looking for something quick to eat – see, I've been walking around this city for hours, now, just thinking about the rebellion. I do a lot of that. So, anyway, I got sort of hungry, and went into the store. You're probably thinking 'well, if there's no money, why is there a store?' Sheez, we sort of just figured that it'd be a good idea to keep stores – how else would we be able to get stuff? So, anyway, I smiled at the guy, he smiled back and I found my way to the produce section. One thing I love in life is an apple. I don't know why, but I love them. You can keep your sugar crap and your candy bars and your soda pop. My idea of something good was fruit. In a word where everything is dying, I figure that maybe I better eat apples whenever I got the chance before they died out or something. See, the ocean had been polluted for so damn long that I think everything in it had mutated into some freak of nature. The atmosphere was close to disgusting, and there were barely any trees left. I think there was one down town somewhere.
I thought about that tree as I grabbed my apple, tossed it into the air, and grinned at the clerk as I reached up and caught it. He smiled back and watched me leave. See? No money.
Well, I got it into my head that maybe I should go down and see that tree. I mean, there weren't many left, so I might as well see it before it dies or something, right? Like with my fruit. So, I made my way downtown, slowly eating my apple, sort of thinking, still. About how everyone's attitude had changed towards the environment after the rebellion. People suddenly realized they were fucking it up, and themselves with it, let's put it that way. Suddenly, everyone was part of some group or other that was trying to save something. The rainforest, the forest, the river, the ocean, the air. Some people were real selective, and went as far as making groups to save, like, one type of bird. I suppose that if I did join a group, I'd join the one that wanted to save apples. Figures.
Now, I wasn't sure just where the tree was exactly... so I asked a few people. Some people looked at me like I was out of my mind. Some gave me directions I promptly forgot. I soothed myself by reasoning that they were probably wrong, anyway. Then, this kid approached me and offered to show me where it was – looked like he knew what tree I was talking about. I grinned at him and took him up on the offer. He led me through the city, and we talked a bit about stuff. Mostly I talked. I mean, I'm not a motor mouth or anything, but I can keep a smooth conversation going even when I'm the only participant. So, I talked about the rebellion, and how everything had changed, and how everything had just gone weird in the past few years. No, not bad weird, just... um, odd. The kid, for his part – well, maybe I shouldn't call him a kid, he looked to be about, I don't know, only a few years younger than me or something – the guy didn't say much. He added a bit here and there, but mostly he just listened. I assumed he was listening, because he nodded his head every once in a while, as if in agreement.
It took a while, but we found the tree. I had finished my apple by then, and had put the remains to rest in a trash bin. No one ever bothered to litter anymore. What was the point? Someone picked it up later anyway, and it looked nasty.
When we stood in front of the tree, I finally stopped talking. Then he started.
He told me that this tree had been here longer then either of us had been alive, longer than our parents had been alive, too. He said that it would be here long after we died. He talked about how people never cared, before, about the tree. People had been too caught up in society and media and shallow things like make up and clothing and looking good and being something they weren't, but thought they had to be. He told me about how the government had always lied and stolen from the people, how it had deceived everyone. I listened quietly, all the while looking up at that tree.
I felt something in me stir as he spoke. He was confident in what he was saying – he knew it to be true. It didn't seem to me that he cared if anyone else believed him. Or maybe he did. He just... didn't care if anyone followed him or not. Finally, I looked over at him.
He was definitely a couple years younger than I was. I thought for a moment, trying to gauge what he would have looked like during the rebellion. Something about him seemed a bit familiar. I smiled.
He told me that people had been sheep, people had been cattle. He said people he been puppets all along. Then he said the puppets had cut theirs strings – but... he wasn't sure if it turned out okay. The puppets were free, but what would they do.
Finally, he stopped talking. He looked over at me, and abruptly announced his departure. As he turned to leave, I asked his name. He paused, and called out over his shoulder, "Lin."
I smiled again.
So...
X had a name.