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| The banners hung flaccidly from the crown of the ballroom, the tables were neatly designed with a most beautiful red silk which was streaming across each table in a oblique formation. Each seat had a name-tag designated to it, as well as the most elegant of glasses and plates dispearsed around it. The ostentatious area was filled a sense of divinity, a sense of flamboyancy, a sense of pride. On the wall opposite the main table, a portrait of Chairman Harper hung, the frame a golden design. The clambering of shoes was soon heard at the main entrance of the ball room, and momentarily the loud clamour of chatter had reduced its self to a quiet din. Many stood up, others choose to salute. The band played a melodic tune in the background. Chairman Harper walked in, waving his hand fluently as to gesture them to be seated. He walked over to the table he was designated to be seated at, accompanied by his personal bodyguard and a few others who were seated at his table. He sat, the cushions casing around his body and seducing him to stay seated. He darted his interest across the room, scanning the people and the decorations. He noticed a few people he knew, a an assortment of a bouquet of Government Officials, Foreign Diplomats, MDAP Agents, Respected Businessmen. This was the place to be for the upper-class, the bourgeois, and the most turgid citizens of Murgen. It was of course, Independence-Day, the Independence of Murgen, a nation which has stood forth with pride in the United Nations as enemies of inequality and capitalism. Of course, all of that was a lie; control was the pristine thing the Government wanted. They wanted scanned internet searches, tapped phone wires, the placing microphones in houses before building them, all to catch anyone who even dares to think, let alone act, against the Government. Alas, the evening would have been perfect if not his yearning to sleep. He was so weary, and the puzzling thing was he had done literally nothing today. He brought up his champagne glass and took a meagre sip. He had grown tired of champagne over the years, yet it was all they really had to offer anymore in such economic weakness. The room progressively became polluted with a faint layer of smoke from the smoking parlours at the back of the room, causing mild distress but nothing to complain about. Everything was going okay, some people still had to turn up, and then real conversation could be started. |
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| Alex bounced along the campus rhythmically as the music floated around her head and gently poured out from the headphones into her ears. She was listening to a calming acoustic melody, with an indie sound to it. In her hand a folder with the words “History of English Poetry” wrote neatly in black pen on the front. Alex, for once in around two years, was not wearing make-up. It had become a habit for her to put it on in the mornings before she left for school, so her not wearing it was quite a surprise for the others. The sun was shining and casting its various rays down onto the campus which was currently buzzing with activity of students and teachers; pigeons fighting over discarded pieces of bread and crusts; the loud cries from the students running around in frenzies, and a rather grotesque smell of bins. Work needed to be done, and within the vast jungles of daily school life there were refuges in which you could relax without too much bother. On this particular day, the tables which sat beneath the gazebo that were shaded from the vivid rays of the sun, were relatively filled. The only seat she could locate was near a boy she had not seen before; He was on his laptop, and seemed to have some kind of cold or perhaps hay fever. Although not wanting to bother him, Alexandra found herself forced to sit down beside him, in order to find a place to work sufficiently. Alex sat herself down and flashed a weak smile towards the boy, whom she was still trying to identify. Perhaps, she had seen him here before, sitting beneath the gazebo shaded from the sun. In fact, she was sure she had seen him on his laptop before. She pulled the chair out and attempting to gain as much comfort as she could, slightly fidgeting for a few seconds. Inside the folder, was a dense archive of paper, some of it slightly ripped at the sides from where she hadn’t taken much care of them. She slid out a small exercise book and turned the page fluently over, wielding a pen, she began to write with various glances up at the scenery. “Hello.” She said, not even looking up, she had been sitting there for a good five minutes and had finally plucked up the courage to say something to him. She looked up to his face, sub-consciousness analysing his appearance. “Where did you get them scars?” She asked quickly, noticing a few scars dispersed around his face, although this might be a sensitive manner, she almost said it instinctively, trying to provoke conversation in any way. |