The Man in the Dictator’s Uniform

 The Man in the Dictators Uniform

The frozen ground crunched under my feet making my walk feel heavier than usual. The winter wind was brisk against my recently shaven face, only a small moustache remained to keep my upper lip warm. The weather is something the state was unable to control but I imagined the weather would remain just as dreary, if they could, if only to keep up appearances. It's strange how weather can mold a people; our harsh weather has made our nation's people tough or weathered if you will. The extreme cold of the winter hardens us; making us better suited for the potential harshness of life. I thought myself clever as I walked past the old tavern with its crooked sign and dusty windows. Weathered if you will- whirled around my head warming me up for a quick moment; another thing the state has no control over - our thoughts but thinking for oneself seems rare these days. 
The reason I ventured out into the frozen world was to collect today's newspaper. The front page had the date of our sovereign leader's next speech, Mr. Dmetri Molotov. Mr. Molotov was the chairman of the state federation; a man colder than the ground I stood on. A man of great character and resolve; of scientific mastery; and an orator like no other. His face is plastered across the nation, no one can escape his glaring one dimensional eyes, like a big brother always watching. Deep down I knew the truth; our great leader was just a man in a dictator's uniform; an empty husk fueled by propaganda and fear. I never spoke this truth; it lived inside my head; our thoughts and the weather were still owned by the people; thinking was still free, at least for the time being. 
The wind howled as I navigated the icy maze of the streets. Living in such a place changes a man; it zombifies him. Existence becomes bleak, going through the motions of life becomes the norm. I imagine it like being trapped; the masses huddled together in a massive maze; we walk around endlessly looking for an exit. Hungry and tired you turn to your brother and ask “How will we ever make it out of this maze?” he turns and answers thoughtlessly his eyes devoid of life “What maze?” How can we find a way out if no one acknowledges that we are trapped. It felt as though the walls grew higher and the people became more lost. My thoughts remain imprisoned inside; I was unable to share for fear of persecution. My burden remained innocuous- I knew we were in a maze but I had no clue how to get out. 
        Pondering like this reminded me of my uncle Alexander; he worked at the University teaching philosophy and sometimes history. He towered over his contemporaries; both in size and intellect, a gentle giant. His scraggly white hair made him look like a sage, he was outspoken and feared no man. No topic was sacred to Alexander; he constantly criticized the regime, which sadly was to his own demise. I haven't seen my dear uncle in months; he vanished into thin air after delivering a speech against the federation. He was not a timid man and fought skin and tooth for the sovereignty of the individual against the state. He abhorred violence and thought it a cowardly tactic, it was for brutes and thugs incapable of fighting with words and ideas. One felt free while in the presence of uncle Alexander; one was free to think and express any idea as long as it was fair and sensible. It felt like a purge; like riding a burden, like cleaning the cobwebs out of one's mind. He teased me saying that I resembled Mr. Molotov save for my moustache; mine I thought was much more refined. I missed our talks of history and his wisdom; he told me to never trust men who live by slogans for they cannot think in broader terms, men who endorse progress for progress sake for they lack the insight to see that conserving the old may be better than progress for progress sake. Avoid those who butcher the language for their own gain; forever arguing over semantics; changing the definition of words like freedom, liberty and patriot to fit their narrative. The Overeducated and overbearing who want to think for you or at the very least tell you how to think. Finally avoid the corrupt who care for nothing more than to stay in power; vicious like wild feral dogs they tear apart anyone who dares challenge them. Alexander warned me about these fragile people to which he was most likely taken by. I couldn't fathom the thought of uncle Alexander being dragged away by these wretched parasites for the simple crime of speaking one's mind and standing one's ground.
I was jolted out of my daydream by two droogs standing in front of my house. The smaller of the two ruffians smoked in a bored trance; he wore his hair slicked back and his black jacket had snow on the shoulders that he never bothered to brush off, he however seemed like the leader of the two. The other one resembled an ogre; he was large with a silly mopey face; his massive hands sulked into his side pockets; although he had a huge skull he most likely became a thug because of his appearance and not his intellect. Surely they were waiting for me; my fate would be sealed by a chain smoking critter and his empty headed ogre pal. I froze in the middle of the empty street trying to figure out a way to avoid my captors; at that moment both of their heads cocked simultaneously in my direction. They came running towards me; the ogre  barreled across the frozen ground like a freight train; his weight shook the earth; he fell flat on his face and the critter ran over top of him never thinking of helping his fallen comrade. Instead of running I laughed at the buffoonery of my captors; the critter with embarrassment over his rodent face; for his unintended slapstick performance, hit me over the head. I could not remember the last time I had laughed, I thought as I lay on the frozen ground; the last thing I saw was the ogres boot stomping my face. 

…

I woke up to the ogre brooding over me; his arms were crossed; as my eyes adjusted I noticed a red bump on his forehead; the black ice being the perpetrator but his eyes blamed me for his clumsiness. The critter was hunched over in the corner eating with his back towards me; smoke formed a cloud over his head which looked like a speech bubble but without any words. Many questions flooded my mind but before I could think straight a loud knock jerked me from forming any coherence. The ogre sulked over to the door and opened it; from the dark hallway entered a small man in full military garb; this man had an air of importance. The air in the room was sucked out; making it difficult to breathe only a stale coldness remained. The critter and ogre clenched up; authority had walked into the room. The man was in his mid- forties; his face looked less hard than most men in his position; he I imagined is the bureaucrat type; the one who plans out evil deeds but makes other men perpetrate them. His eyes were frozen over; a frenzy hid behind that dark abyss. The critter and ogre seemed far more boffonish compared to our bureaucrat; he was their superior even if he possessed a psychopathy towards his fellow man. The man worked as Mr. Molotovs Secretary of Propaganda; he was the man behind the scenes pulling the strings, he oversaw writing the state approved speeches and made sure power stayed in the right hands. Why was I in the same room as this ruthless bureaucrat? 
The bureaucrat looked me over; inspecting me with a strange curiosity, I stayed silent while his beady eyes probed me. He stuck his thumb out towards me and closed one eye; his tongue slunk out as he squinted inquiringly; he nodded at my captors and went back into the darkness from where he came. A few moments later I was bombarded by a slew of doctors, psychologists, experts, documenters and even a tailor; they proceeded to poke and prod, diagnose and delegate; they measured inside my arms, inspected my tongue and scrutinized my throat. The dimension of my skull was a topic of debate for a couple of jammering doctors; they spoke in medical jargon to which I understood little. This was the strangest torture I could imagine; nothing hurt it was simply mildly uncomfortable. It dawned on me that perhaps I was being kept alive and well because I served a purpose that I was not yet aware of. 
That night I lay awake in a tiny cell with only my uncertainty for company and the faint snores of the ogre from the other side of the wall. Periodically he would jolt himself awake with his own snoring; other than that the lout slept like a baby. I on the other hand couldn’t sleep and envied the ogre for being able to sleep with such ease. Morning came quick; I tried to enjoy the sunrise for it may be one of my last. This freedom belonged to me; no matter how much they try to beat us down; to make one grovel in the dirt; the simple truth is there are some things you cannot take away from man no matter how hard you push; in that moment the sun was mine and I was free to think and feel anything; it belonged to me and this was one thing they couldn't kill or subdue; I would fight tooth and nail to protect this; to keep the sun that lived inside of me alive. I was free for a moment but my hopeful contemplation was interrupted by the sound of the ogre choking on his tongue and jolting himself awake. I fell asleep laughing at the absurdity of my situation; and thought that laughter was another thing that couldn’t be taken away from man even in his last few hours of life. 

...

I felt disoriented from lack of sleep; for the life of me I couldn't remember being brought to the main palace, I felt as though I was in a fever dream and had no control over my fate. Everything was coming at me like a whirlwind; the menacing minions of science sat on high chairs in judgment of me; our bureaucrat amongst them. I stared at my jurors with contempt; barely remembering how I ended up in this courtroom. A white whiskered man thumbed some paperwork; his glasses sat under his nose; he breathed with a heavy sigh like he had dust in his lungs. I had enough wherewithal to notice that everyone who was on trial looked the same; in fact they all looked like me. The man with white whiskers slammed the gavel down; as he told me the plot I saw dust come from his crooked mouth. His absurd words struck me like a ton of bricks; I had no choice but to listen. I was to impersonate Mr. Molotov due to our striking resemblance; I laughed at this absurd task.


The crowd cheered as I walked on to the balcony; they had no idea I was an imposter, it felt surreal looking down at my people and wondering if their love was genuine or a reaction of fear. In that moment I was their leader, as I waved their clamor grew, it felt exhilirating. The power of the man I was impersonating pulsated through my core; the words I was told to memorize invigorated the crowd “Long live the federation” this empty slogan shot through the air and the crowd went wild. For the first time in my life I felt powerful; I had the chance to set them free if only I could conjure up the right words; the so called right words never came. An itch, a slight tingle formed in the back of my throat, something I could never scratch. The absurdity of my situation came to the surface; an absurdity that lurked under the surface my whole life. I began to laugh; it started slowly and descended into madness. The horde stared at me like a god and I looked down at them with godless eyes. Their laughter was hesitant at first but they eventually followed suit; one by one they formed into a howling blob. A monstrous cackle came out of the uneasy mass. The laughter felt uneasy and forced; maddening like a mass psychosis. At the same time it felt cathartic like a release from the strain of totalitarian rule. My ribs hurt and my face grew red from the continuous laughter; I looked like a beelzebub ruling over hell. The ogre stood behind me; a bellowing sound came from his giant lungs; his paws clung to his belly almost to keep his innards from coming up. The critter chittered on the ground; convulsing like a dying rodent; his eyes turning inward. Our bureaucrat however stared at me menacingly; he was not moved or coerced to laughter; he stood cold and waited for the hysterics to finish. As the laughing ran out silence fell on the crowd, it was an aerie cutting silence. I felt a curdling emptiness as I looked at their desperate faces; I was nothing more than a laughing autocrat, an empty despot, I had become a man in a dictators uniform.