A few days ago I came up with an idea. I’ve been making worlds in my head for as long as I can remember, but coming up with stories in those worlds was a whole different deal. So I figured I’d just practice writing by picking a random word every day I go to the gym (which is most weekdays) and write 200 words (at least) around that.

Today’s word was “juntocracy.” (Somewhat amusing that my spellchecker doesn’t know it.)

I was sitting alone on the hillside, just a little above where the slope gets steeper. In winter this is where skiers would bend their knees, the braver preparing for the jump.

I’ve done that a few times myself, but I never had the courage to actually try and jump. I kept telling myself that the next time I would, and then the next after that, but it never happened.

The general, in her morning speech today mentioned a similar idea too. She called on the resistance the bend their knees and let the country take its big jump.

It’s been a few weeks since, on the new moon’s night, the general took power and the country effectively became a juntocracy. She’s been talking about this big jump, of course into a brighter future, ever since.

I found it extremely ironic that she chose that phrase. It really can’t get much darker than a new moon’s night after all. The tanks have been in town for weeks, but we still don’t know how the future is going to get brighter.

There seems to be a whistling in the air, but I’m not sure if it’s just the wind ringing in my ears. Then the shockwave hits and I catch a glimpse of the hoverplanes. I calmly note how I don’t recognize their insignia as my consciousness fades for good.