No happy endings

Life wasn't like the movies.

A hard lesson to swallow for a kid raised on a heavy diet of over the top, moral rebel propaganda films. I spent my whole childhood gazing at screens, heart tight with hope and pride as the makeshift flag of our movement fluttered over victorious rebel fighters.

The movies were awfully filmed, on budget cameras, with same extras playing in them over and over. They were rarely bloody, often noble, and totally biased.

But I adored them. Real life was a constant lesson in being persecuted, hunted, and hated. Of the government executing people like me, and constant feelings of terror, grief, and pain.

Before I was seven, I'd attended nineteen funerals. Before I was twelve, my friend was beaten to death for spraypainting a government tank with a rebel motto. When I turned fifteen, I watched my mother and uncle get dragged away to prison, never to be seen again.

That's when I joined the rebellion. I briefly fought on the front lines before my weak aim and even weaker stomach forced me to withdraw. So I did what I'd always been meant to do: shot propaganda films.

Easier than firing a gun, and with a lot less cognitive dissonance. Making the films became my labour of love, finding the beauty in a war zone, the meaning of life when you were an enemy combatant; a stranger in your own country.

It meant inventing beauty at times too. War was never beautiful, often miserable, and always cruel. But it needed to be right, meaningful, and ultimately optimistic. And all that became easy when I met Saria.

Our culture used to have kings and queens, before invaders and conflict wiped them out. Saria was a child of the ditches, an orphan who clawed her way to the top of the rebel ranks.

There was no legend to her, so I spun one out of her accomplishments, and her very real charm. She united the rebels, and won over soldiers and international support.

That feeling I used to get watching our invented flag flow in the wind, with our broken national anthem emerging from scavenged speakers, I felt for real.

In a way, I never had to forget the movies. Never had to lose their magic, because Saria made me feel that hope and righteousness.

Every battle she won, every victory she won for our people made the cause stronger, and worthier.

Lately, the rebel commander had been incredibly difficult to find. While I knew she wasn't dead, the more she was gone, the more the hope faded.

I was struggling with a video, eating a rare bowl of chicken noodles.

There was a knock, and I looked up as a messenger ducked his head in. "Commander Saria requests your presence in the War Room."

"She's here?" I demanded, pulling a jacket on and standing up.

"As she's the one who sent the message, I would say yes." Bilal, our overly verbose messenger raised his eyebrows.

I glared at him, closing my computer. "You're a messenger, not a minister, keep it simple." I started running the second I left, like she'd disappear again if I didn't get to her in time.

When I got there, I couldn't help the grin that twisted my mouth, I was so relieved to see her.

The rebel leader looked feverish, eyes bright and skin pale with some new idea or mission. She grinned too when she saw me, and when I moved in for a hug, I noted the new, long scar on her arm.

"Hm. Chicken day at the kitchens, huh? International aid must be good." Saria muttered, and I pulled away, embarrassed by the show of emotion.

"What's happened?" I asked, having become a trusted confidante of our leader after saving her life and her saving mine.

"It's what's about to happen that should concern you," Saria stated, wringing her hands together. I frowned. Why was there no one here, no high command, no soldiers?

Only Saria's old teacher, a former army man was there, lounging against a wall, arms crossed.

"What's about to happen?"

Saria looked at me, then through me, breathing out slowly. "I'll tell you, just wait. We need one more person, but it's happening. We're about to win."

I glanced at her old teacher, ex-Commander Khalen Verdant.

"Chickens, Saria. Don't count your chickens yet." He muttered, voice tired.

"Is that why you've been missing for weeks now?" I questioned Saria, taking a seat on the edge of the table. My team and I had to work overtime, quashing rumours of our leader's disappearance, illness, death, you name it.

Some foreign countries had already printed obituaries while her location was disputed.

Carefully, I edited old recordings to make it look like she was still present.

Deep brown eyes fully looked into mine. "Yes." Saria grinned like a Cheshire cat, fiddling with a pen. She tossed it up and down in the air, gauging its weight. She did that before she threw knives too.

I scoffed, trying to hide my immediate forgiveness. "A little warning would have been nice."

"The opportunity fell into our laps." Commander Khalen cracked his neck. "And we couldn't risk leaks."

A little betrayed, I waited for Saria's response.

"I had to ship out immediately," Saria explained, eyes drifting off again. She'd lost weight too, and her usually elaborate, long hair had been shorn into short curls.

"So where-" I was interrupted as the door opened, and the room stilled as Mama Maryam entered the room.

She was one mother who'd lost a child to the bombs and government soldiers. Six-year-old Maryam. Mama Maryam was one of the hundreds of mothers who lost children, but she didn't lie down, wracked with grief.

She protected her community and distributed food, blankets, and clothing. She cared for widows, and new mothers, and took in orpahns. Last week, I'd watched her teach a single father how to swaddle his twin sons. Their other father had been executed by soldiers.

The government despised Mama Maryam's peaceful protests just as much as they despised Saria's violent rebels. The evidence of their latest beating was all over Mama Maryam's face, in yellows, blues and green.

"Should you be risking so much in your condition?" I asked Mama Maryam, appalled by the injuries. She was clearly pregnant.

Commander Khalen scoffed behind me, and I turned, never sure what to make of him. He was ruthless, and I heard stories of how he broke Saria's fingers to teach her about overcoming pain.

"Everyone pays the price of war, Mr. Atayi." Commander Khalen stared at me through lined, narrow eyes. "Mama Maryam is an honourable testament to the strength of our people. Try to work that into your films, if that message matters enough."

I was about to say something when Saria raised a hand. "Enough. We don't have time for this."

She stepped around me to get closer to Mama Maryam. Her gait was fluid and strong, like a tiger. Shoulders hunched, eyes wary and hooded.

Mama Maryam stared her down, eyes hard but concerned. "Why did you call me here?"

"We're bombing the capital," Saria said and I felt the air leave the room. "The parliament building has been lined with explosives, and there are explosives at the national armoury and the military base."

"What?" I demanded, right as Mama Maryam backed away, hand to her mouth.

"What have you done?" Mama Maryam asked, voice a whisper. "They'll kill us for this."

Saria ignored me when I grabbed her arm. "We'll give you half our forces to protect your refugee camps, just spread the word and keep everyone underground. Don't say why."

"Why would you do this?" Mama Maryam's mouth shook, and she clenched her fists. "Like they don't kill us enough? Why did you do this?"

Saria shrugged off my hand. "Aren't you tired of being at their mercy? Of being used for target practice? I'm saving us."

"They'll bomb us anyways," I argued, furious with her. We'd been the good guys for so long, only killed when it was necessary. "You're gonna hurt so many-"

"Don't you dare say innocents." Saria snapped, finally looking at me. "We'll blow up the military base first, then the armoury. And then we'll hold the parliament hostage. First, timed explosions will block off the exits. Then we'll demand surrender or blow up more."

Mama Maryam looked angry enough to slap her. "You're a stupid child, happy to knock down the blocks because you can. You have no idea what you're going to cost us."

"Our government will do better," Saria said, stepping closer to Mama Maryam. "We'll treat these bastards a hundred times better than they treated us. They won't kill your next child, don't you want that?"

Mama Maryam said nothing, hands trembling with anger and worry.

"Get your people safe. I'll do my part." Saria turned away from her, clearly dismissing her.

I had never seen such disrespect from Saria to Mama Maryam. Last year, Saria had brought Mama Maryam's adopted children blankets personally and bowed to the woman.

"I fed you too, in those refugee camps. I fed you with my own hands, and I never thought you'd become this." Mama Maryam said quietly. "You used to bring children hope, little one. You saved the life of a government soldier, and I saw the girl I saved. Where is that girl now?"

I stared at my friend's back. Watched her muscles stiffen.

Saria whipped back around, eyes hot with anger. "My mother and uncle never made it to the prisons. Did you know that? I infiltrated the capital, and I looked through the records. My mother was burned alive, and my uncle was executed in the middle of nowhere!" Her lips curled away in disgust as she marched closer. "You told me if we did right by them, we could live with dignity. You are a liar and a coward. They're monsters, and the only way to reason with them is to burn them alive."

"Saria-" My eyes widened with shock.

Mama Maryam looked mournful. "I have attended so many funerals. Never because of you, but I'll do it." She stepped forward and cupped Saria's chin. "Your people are more important than revenge."

Saria squeezed Mama Maryam's bony wrist. "I do everything for my people." Her voice was dead and tired, much like Commander Khalen's.

Mama Maryam left, with the promise of half our forces.

The second the door shut, I turned to Saria. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She leaned back against a table, arms crossed. "Why are you angry?"

"She's right!" I pointed at the door, shouting now. "We'll be slaughtered, if not by the government you blow up, then my international forces."

"No, we won't." Saria took a deep breath and looked away. "I asked for help, we have soldiers and weapons."

It took a second for it to dawn on me. "You aligned with terrorists. Mercenaries? They'll kill so many people-"

"Only if they attack us first." Saria declared.

"They will! Because you're blowing up the parliament!" I yelled, slamming my hand down on a table.

"To date, seven million of our people have been executed by the invaders. The government has additionally imprisoned over a hundred thousand people in the last four years, many of them children." Saria replied coldly. "I didn't start this, and I'm not interested in half measures to end it. It ends now. So what will it be?"

I stared at her, so angry by her question that I wanted to leave her right then. Out of spite.

"Come with me." I left without waiting for a reply and heard Saria ignore some comment Commander Khalen made.

She followed me to my studio, people bowing left and right as we passed. Good, the rumour would spread, our Commander was back.

"What are we doing here?" Saria asked tiredly, one muscular arm wrapped around her ribs.

I clicked my computer on, onto the film I'd been struggling with and played it for her.

It was years of footage. Grainy footage of a young, battered soldier. A rebel that children adored, who hugged each one with love. Of a student, training under an uncompromising, cruel teacher, and yet executing each move with a smile.

Of an unbroken, charming, eloquent individual whose true strength didn't lie in the gun strapped to her waist or the ruthless strength she'd developed.

It was the way people gravitated toward her. To her smile, her laugh, her jokes about mud and blood. Her uncompromising morals.

I watched her face soften, and felt something like hope squeeze in my chest. Please let this work. Let that darkness leave her eyes.

Commander Khalen stuck his head in. "We need your orders."

Saria looked at me, then at him. "Go forward with the plan."