Alexander Porter

A Shame

One of the most boring moments of life is waiting for someone else who is late. It forces

the one who is on time into a situation where they can practically do nothing, but look around his

or her surroundings. Tragically, a woman who can be referred to as the Journalist was found in

this exact situation. She sat on a ivory chair which was built to look extremely fragile was yet

able to easily hold the Journalist's weight. Near her were other chairs of similar designs whose

only difference were the materials they were made of. The Journalist had even considered sitting

in the glass chair, but had decided not to risk it. The chairs themselves were arranged in a circle

which was equally distributed in the gazebo they were placed in. Although the Journalist had

already looked around countless times, she once again did so since there really wasn't much us

else to do. The gazebo was placed on a small island in the middle of a pond while a marble path

connected the building to the land surrounding the pond. The water was clear to the point that the

fish swimming in it looked as if they were swimming in air. The fish themselves were a marvel

since their scales would change color every so often as they lazily floated around. The Journalist

herself had no idea how this worked, but speculated that the color changes were dependant on

the amount of light focused on them. It was a wonder to how they survived in the wild. Around

the pond itself were countless rose bushes. There were red roses, blue roses, white roses, and

even colors the Journalist never saw before on rose petals including black which on further

inspection was just an extremely dark shade of red. "I wish I could leave," muttered the

Journalist, but in this situation she could not.

 Finally, after a few more minutes the Journalist was no longer alone. She was able to spot

the figure walking towards her almost immediately. The being was tall yet abnormally skinny to

the point where the journalist thought for a second that the approaching man was instead a

walking tree. The man had long dark white hair neatly combed back to the point of perfection

which somehow brought one to focus on his bright red eyes which solidified the assumption of

the man being an albino. The white figure was dressed in simple black robes that seemed to not

have a speck of dust on them. The Journalist envied this since she always seemed to have dust

somehow on her business outfits, and today was of no exception. As the albino continued

forward the sun seemed to focus more on the marble path making it seem as if it was a bridge

made of light. The Journalist had to shake off the feeling that she was being approached by not a

mortal, but a deity. A mortal who was in fact the Dictator of the island that the Journalist was

currently visiting.

"Thank you for this interview sir," stated the Journalist as the man finally got to the

gazebo, "I hope that this results in a better understanding between our nations." The Dictator at

first did not respond, instead he looked at the remaining seats and chose the glass one after a

small moment of silence. He then adjusted his position in the seat to a more professional one

before he finally responded, "I doubt it, but it will at least entertain me for an hour or two." The

Journalist didn't really know how to reply to such a response.. "Alright, well let's get down to

business. Wha-" With a wave of his this hand, the Dictator cut her off. "No need to immediately

get into that. How has your stay been in my capital? Was it what you expected?" the Journalist

was taken aback at the Dictator's statement. She expected that this interview wouldn't go

completely as planned, but nevertheless such a question was a surprise. The Journalist indeed

had expected for the city to be a lot worse. Her nation had taught it's citizen's that the Dictator's
small kingdom was full of poverty and crime. It was supposed to be a place lacking of order and

peace. Instead, the Journalist found a peaceful city where everyone greeted each other in a

friendly manner and there wasn't a single homeless man or woman to be found. The Journalist

had expected there to be corrupt guards who would harass citizens, but instead everyone was

friendly with them and she had even seen some women flirting with one of guards. While it was

true that there were few cars and it looked as if most people didn't have access to modern

technology no one seemed to be suffering from it. People were able to get around by bikes or by

simply walking. "I have to admit," muttered the Journalist, "It wasn't what I expected..."

"Of course not," exclaimed the Dictator in a cheerful manner that seemed out of character

due to his dreary looks and emotionless face, "Your government corrupts any positive viewpoint

of our society to the point where I am seen as a monster. My people are happy and I strive to

keep them that way." The Journalist tried to repress a snort of contempt, but only partially

succeeded. "I guess this can be our first topic then. What you are saying is that my government

creates propaganda to specifically target you? Isn't that a bit.... arrogant? I admit that the capital

is alright, but then again it is the capital. I have not had time to visit the rest of your nation and I

have a feeling that the capital is the exception to the rule." Now it was the Dictator's turn to snort.

"Really now, that was a little petty, even for someone from your nation. I will gladly allow you

to have a tour of the rest of the nation after this interview. After all, you are allowed to say here

for the rest of the week. Hopefully this will show you that you can't believe everything that your

government tells you."

The Journalist was about to harshly reply, but quickly stopped herself. She realized that

this had become more of an argument than an interview. "It looks like we have started off on the

wrong foot sir. Maybe we should take a small break." Surprisingly, the Dictator smiled a little. It
was the first expression the journalist had seen him make. "Already? Very well foreigner, we

shall have a small break. I will have one of my servants bring us some wine." The Journalist

remembered all too well from previous encounters with the Dictator that he refused to call

anyone who wasn't a citizen of his nation anything else except foreigner. The Dictator then stood

up, turned around, and walked back down the marble path. This gave the Journalist the chance to

stand up and stretch, but to her annoyance she was not alone for long. Another man was now

standing in the Gazebo.

It seemed to the Journalist that he had magically appeared there, but in reality the man

had walked there while the journalist had turned around while stretching. The Journalist instantly

recognized this man as the leader of the Dictator's military. The General was a short, pudgy man

who looked like a mole wearing a military outfit. He was known for being ambitious to an

extreme, but the Dictator kept him in power due to the General also being a genius at organizing

the military forces. "Greetings ma'am," the General chortled, "I hope you are doing well." The

Journalist faked a smile at this hideous man. "Indeed I did General, and before you ask, I have

given what we discussed at the party last night quite some thought." The party was actually

hosted by the Dictator and had included all high ranking official's of the nation. the Dictator had

personally invited the Journalist there so she could discuss politics and such with these officials.

There, the Journalist has found to her surprise that there were some officials that were against

how the Dictator controlled the nation and were hoping for reformation and industrialization to

replace the traditional regime. The General was one of these officials and had later pulled the

Journalist aside and had discussed a certain tactic. This "tactic" involved the Journalist putting a

bullet in the head of the Dictator which would allow the military to take over. The Journalist of

course had said she would "think about it" while she pretty much thought no. Why should she get
involved in this foreign land's politics? Why should he put herself at risk for someone else's

power grab? Such a thing seemed preposterous and she was only there for an interview; an

interview that would hopefully get her promoted. Yet while she laid in bed after the party she

considered it. The removal of the Dictator would benefit hundreds of millions. Not only would

the citizens of the Dictator 's nation benefit since it would remove his regime and thus allow

positive change to occur, but it would take away one of the Journalist's nation's main rivals and

might even turn them into a valuable ally. It was a stressful thing for both nations to oppose each

other due to them being so close to each other. Such conflict wouldn't exist if not for a difference

of ideals: the Journalist's country being extremely capitalistic while the Dictator's nation

embraces socialistic methods. The possibilities of a more peaceful future intrigued the Journalist,

but certain things still bugged her. "Why exactly does it have to be me?" asked the Journalist,

"And what prevents me from being shot by the armed guards after?" The General seemed

unfazed by these questions as he stared right back at her with his beady little eyes. It was most

likely that he had already known she would ask such questions. "To answer the first question,"

he started, "When the military takes over we will immediately give you a pardon and just simply

kick you out of our country." This response irked the Journalist a little bit. What was to prevent

the General from just shooting her? Nevertheless, she continued to listen. "For the second

question, it's simple: no one can carry guns in his presence except for his guards and me. Do you

remember the inspection you received before entering these grounds?" The Journalist did

remember the "inspection" she received. It was thorough to the point where she was wondering if

the guard was doing his job or simply just coping a feel. "Very well," she replied, "Yet I myself

do not have a gun..." The General fixed the situation by swiftly placing a small pistol in her

hand. "This gun has one bullet in it and cannot be traced to me," he stated, "Make sure that if you
do it you shoot him in the head." After some time of fiddling with the gun, the Journalist opened

the cartridge to see that there was in fact one bullet. "Oh by the way," sneered the General as he

started to walk away so she wouldn't have time to protest, "If you succeed I will have ten million

dollars of your nation's currency sent to your account." This was something the general had not

mentioned at the party last night. "If I had ten million dollars," the Journalist muttered to herself,

"then I would be able to afford whatever I wanted. I could even possibly stop working for the

rest of my life!" Already this deal was starting to look worth it. By the time she finally decided to

carry out the assassination the dictator was already back with some wine.

After drinking a glass of the fine drink the general had brought, the interview continued.

Unlike before, the interview actually became slightly more productive. The Dictator seemed a

little less sarcastic and answered her questions to the best of his ability. "Sir, why do you not

support the education of world politics to your people," asked the Journalist, "or to be more

general, the education of anything that involves the outside worlds." "It's simple really," replied

the Dictator, "I believe that with such a lack of information, the chance of corruption is small. If

my people know nothing of peace then they won't know what war is. A lack of knowledge can

benefit one more than one way. I believe your people have a term for this... oh yes, it is "to be

blissfully ignorant" I believe." Instead of attacking him on his ideals and reverting the

conversation back to how it originally started, the Journalist instead professionally continued the

interview. As time went on she began to think about the deal she made with the General and

realized that in the end it was just a horrible decision. Who knew if she would make it out of the

country alive? Who knew if she would be welcomed back a hero or just put in jail for being a

national criminal? No, in the end it was probably best to not go on with the deal.
 "Thank you sir for putting some time into your busy schedule for this," said the Journalist

as the interview wrapped up. "Not at all my good lady," said the once again expressionless

albino, "Now I must get back to work, the guards will lead you out." The journalist took one

final look at the Dictator after she left the gazebo. He seemed to be showing some type of

emotion in his eyes. Could it be disappointment? If so, then in what? She thought that the figure

in the gazebo seemed lonely. As the Journalist walked away she realized that he indeed must be

lonely. All of his answers to her questions had been in the best interest of his people. Sure almost

all of them resulted in the removal of some freedom, but she knew from how he talked and what

he said that all he wanted was for his citizens to be happy. Indeed, a man of his power must be

cautious of his death otherwise everything he had created would have been for not. The Dictator

must truly be a lonely man.

The Dictator was indeed disappointed as he reflected on what recently happened. It was a

shame that she had already left, for he was hoping for the interview to have gone on for a few

more hours. It was a shame that she had been less emotional than he expected due to the fact that

her rage made him all the more entertained. Yet most of all, it was a shame that she had not tried

to kill him. The gun given to her had been his idea, not the General. If only she had brought it out

and pulled the trigger of the gun that didn't even work properly. He would have had proof that

the journalist's nation was indeed evil and could have given the other nations of the world a

reason to declare war on it. It was a shame.