- Pronouns
- he/him
- TNP Nation
- Arcanstotska
WARNING!
THIS RP WILL CONTAIN STRONG LANGUAGE AND EVENTS INSPIRED BY REAL HISTORICAL TOTALITARIAN REGIMES! IF YOU WOULD RATHER NOT READ SUCH MATERIAL, PLEASE DIRECT YOUR ATTENTION ELSEWHERE!
CONSIDER YOURSELF DISCLAIMED!
Sunday
12 August, 2007
5:42 PM
Salegre, Asturica
I spent that afternoon like any other. I was out of school for the weekend and my homework was all done, so I was seated, with legs crossed and hugging tightly my plushie of Little Trooper Laza*, watching a cartoon on the living room television about our glorious Autarca* crushing the degenerate communist porcos* and saving the nation from the horrid and evil reds.
The little animated Autarca Naron cornered the slender, sickly looking communist in a corner. The communist character was wearing a big red sweater with the hammer and sickle on his left arm just above a flag patch which indicated he was from New Aleman. His neck was long, his head shaped like a ball with tiny, disgusting ears oozing with wax. He barely had any hair to speak of. The communist swine dropped to his knees and began to beg the glorious Autarca for mercy. But the animated Autarca just pulled out a machine gun, turned up his chin in a gesture to display his disgust at this sight, and opened fire. Dressed in a military uniform with a bright red sash coming from his right shoulder down to his belt, the Autarca turned to the camera, dropped his machine gun, and crossed his arms over his large and proud body.
“Sons and daughters of Asturica,” he said with a deep, commanding tone. Immediately I jumped to my feet and stood at attention. I knew he was talking to everyone who would be watching this cartoon across the whole nation, but I could feel him talking directly to me. His light blue eyes staring deep into me with an almost hypnotic allure. “Yes, glorious Autarca?” I asked the cartoon, eager for a reply.
“Beware of the red menace! They lurk everywhere, waiting for an opportunity to bring down our glorious nation yet again! Remember to report any suspected communists and other degenerates to the State Security Service!”
“I will, glorious Autarca!” I replied with glee, raising my fist high into the air.
“Long live Asturica! Long live Naron!” The cartoon Autarca raised his fist.
“Long live Asturica! Long live Naron!” I repeated the mantra several times, my right first still held high, as the screen faded to black. Large, white, bold letters appeared in my country’s language.
“DESTROY THE COMMUNIST MENACE!”
I shouted the phrase back to the TV with ecstatic pride. The cartoon ended, I grabbed my Little Trooper Laza and ran off to my bedroom upstairs to draw and play with my toy soldiers.
I burst into my room to come face-to-face with a wall covered in posters. One of the posters showed a boy with blonde hair who looked just a year or two older than myself, though I had black hair and slightly darker skin. The poster read, “DO YOUR PART! DESTROY THE ENEMY! JOIN THE GLORIOUS BOYS LEAGUE!” The boy had an army cap on his head, an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder, and a wide smile across his face. I knew in my heart I wanted to be like that boy; to join the Glorious Boys League, to be taught fighting, rifle shooting, and the ways of war so I too could help destroy Asturica’s enemies. I was five, so I only had another three years until I would be among his number.
Hung above my bed was the flag of the eternally glorious National Prosperity Party of Asturica. Under the leadership of the glorious Autarca, they saved my country from the rotting carcass it was becoming under communism. In school I was taught that under communism boys as young as me were worked to death in factories and the women became slaves to be beaten and abused. I was taught so many horrible things that the communists used to do that I could go on and on about it all. But in 1997, the glorious Autarca saved us all from the communists.
We were taught that he arrived in the capital, Sadena, with a divine aura around him. We were taught that in his presence, all felt happy, loyal, and safe. A man sent by God Himself to save Asturica from ruin. He sent away the communist government and became Asturica’s Autarca. In class I would gaze at the portrait of our Autarca held up on the wall just above the whiteboard, wondering what it would have been like to see such a glorious thing as his assent to power, or even just to be in his presence at all.
I threw Little Trooper Laza onto my bed and ran over to my closet where a large container of toy soldiers was to be found. Eager to play, I dumped them onto the wooden floor of my room and began to set up the soldiers.
The white figures looked proud and strong, as they were the soldiers of the Asturican Army. The red figures, on the other hand, were the communists. They were intentionally designed to look deformed and ugly with sloppy guns that drooped like a face of sadness, all with the intention of emphasizing their inferiority. They were communists after all, I reasoned. Why wouldn’t they look ugly and mean and evil?
Immediately I went to work playing out a scene from my young imagination; the glorious Asturican soldiers valiantly annihilate the disgusting communists from New Aleman, winning the day for glorious and eternal Asturica! I used the Asturican figures to beat the communists, imagining some sort of melee fight from which the Asturican would emerge triumphant.
I spent two-or-so hours playing with my toy soldiers and drawing pictures glorifying the Autarca before I heard my mother call for me from downstairs.
“Anton! Dinner time!”
I sprang to my feet and rushed from my room and down the stairs and into the dining room. My nose was greeted with the sweet smell of civilian ration food and the sight of my mother, father, and little sister Roca seated at the table. I walked over and took my seat. My father began to give thanks.
“Lord God, thank You for this meal we are about to eat. May you bless this home, bless our family, and bless our glorious Autarca and our glorious nation. Amen.” We said the prayer along with him, then we ate.
The food was your standard civilian ration; potatoes, ham, peas, and corn. The most luxurious foods were reserved for grown-ups in the military or government. It’s better than it was under communism, I was taught, when only government officials had any food at all and the Asturican people starved. I reached for my glass of water and took a sip.
“So what did you learn in school today, children?” My father asked as he looked at us both.
Roca was the first to speak up. “I learned counting and how to attack a communist with a bayonet,” she stated proudly as she smiled.
“And you, Anton?” My father’s head shifted towards me. “What did you learn today?”
I swallowed my corn and replied, “I have begun to learn our national history and how evil the communist regime was. I learned that they let our nation starve and that they abused our women and enslaved our children.”
“Very good!” My father patted my shoulder.
After dinner I went back up to my room to draw and play with toy soldiers. I think an hour or so went by before I heard shouting from downstairs.
“How dare you, Brianda! How dare you show disrespect towards our glorious Autarca!”
“But Bruno,” I could hear my mother respond frantically, “our children are being brainwashed into killing other people! This cannot go on! We must leave Asturica!”
He smacked her so hard I could hear it from my room. “How dare you! Communist! Betrayer of the nation! Enemy of Asturica!”
I sprang to my feet and ran to the telephone to dial the State Security Service, just like the glorious Autarca told me to do earlier.
“State Security Service, how may I help you?” A woman’s voice came on over the phone.
“I’d like to report a communist! My mommy’s a communist! Come take her and correct her mind!”
She asked for my address, and I provided her with such. A few minutes of downstairs shouting later, a jet-black cruiser pulled up before the house, shining its red lights and sounding its siren.
“Ha!” I heard my father exclaim. “Now you shall be corrected!”
“No! No, Bruno please! Don’t do this!”
I heard the SSE officers walk in and drag my mother away and force her into the cruiser, before I drove off. Roca walked downstairs and I followed.
“Daddy?” She spoke up. “Where are the men taking mommy? Is mommy a communist?”
My father straightened his coat and looked at us. “Yes, mommy is a filthy communist. They are taking her to the correctional facility where her mind will be fixed. Then she’ll be normal again.”
I felt proud. I had saved my mother from her communist delusions. I did my nation a great service.
Right?
Little Trooper Laza = a soldier character plush, popular among Asturican children
Autarca = Autarch
porcos = pigs
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