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8-petaled-flower · 11 months

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Sticks and Stones

The digital bells ring. People in suits begin to rush. Metallic doors painted with a wooden facade open and close.

The Prime Minister and his cabinet all sit down in their spots; Their breaths still short from the sudden alarm, except for the Prime Minister and the Defence Minister, who were in the cabinet room the entire time.

“Cabinet is in session. Security, may you head out, for this is strictly confidential.” The Prime Minister ordered in a low but clear voice. Confused at first, the guards still left the room as the facade door closed again. “I will explain calmly.”

The entire cabinet exchanged short glances. They were not made aware of anything important. There were no reminders of social unease. And certainly, there was nothing unusual from the international stage that needed Australia to address something. Frankly, everybody was puzzled.

Before explaining anything, the Prime Minister requested all ministers to reach in the iron compartment under the elongated desk. Each member of the cabinet pulls out a copy of a black binder, stacked full of pages. It is more heavy than their usual daily reports for their respective ministries.

“Before you open this report, I request you all to take an oath before we start.”

Cabinet is shocked. It is the first time the Prime Minister has ever asked them to take an oath in a meeting, even in a classified meeting. The Health Minister’s hand and voice begins to shake as he interrupts

“Ernst… Why is this necessary?”

The Prime Minister clicks his lips as he opens them.

“Bill,” He pauses as he scans around the table. “And everyone, I must do this, so that…”

Stress begins to tighten his heart and his words. Almost as if God is pointing a sword at him.

“... We will be true public servants.”

It is an unexpected answer, but cabinet understands its meaning as they study the Prime Minister looking back at them.

He is the same man who led them through a difficult election. Who gave them these ministerial roles and responsibilities. And who continues to support them no matter what. The cabinet has a silent trust in him. He has a silent acknowledgement. He lets in a deep breath.

"Repeat every single word after me."

He calmly states. The Cabinet straightens their back; Standing ready for whatever is in front of them.

"I,"

"I," The Cabinet calmly repeats.

"A public servant of Australia,"

"Shall guard this secret to my very life."

"For the protection of my community."

"For the security of Australia."

"And for the sake of humanity."

"If this is ever leaked,"

"And it causes the elimination of what we know and love,"

"It will be my sin."

Cabinet pauses; Even the thoughts of the ministers can be heard over their breaths. Cabinet resumes.

"It will be my sin."

As they mutter the last word, they end with releasing a sigh. The Prime Minister scans around the table, nods, and takes another breath.

"Now, I want you to deeply reflect on the meaning of each and every single one of the words you have just recited for this oath. You know by now, I expect my leadership, and everyone under it, will follow what we promised."

The Prime Minister takes one last look around the table. Stress infused-sweat begins to circle down the sides of each minister's face as they take in another breath of responsibility. A deep responsibility.

"You may now open the binder, to the contents page, page two."

One by one, each minister gently lifts the slick black plastic cover and turns the first page over.

A simple white page with simple dot points and numbers, its ink already as cold as the iron compartment as it is pulled from; Their hearts dropped.

“As I see from your faces, I will keep the explanation simple.” Aside from their frozen reflections, the ministers were entirely shattered. Not only are his hands shaking, it also spread towards the Health Minister’s entire body. And the Foreign Minister is simply awestruck; A million different scenarios are clicking in her head. What will the world come to?

“In our recent efforts to cut back spending in the budget, we requested the Australian Defence Force to defund any technology or investments towards equipment in general; As we saw it was not that needed in this time of… Relative peace… However we also allowed them to notify us on any projects they saw as absolutely vital in any possible military situation we may face in the near future…”

The Prime Minister takes another pause; Breathes in.

“To both my and George’s surprise, it seems the Defence Force has discovered technology that is capable of creating the next most powerful weapon…”

The Prime Minister pauses to comfort the Defence Minister, who begins to breathe faster.

“Humanity has ever seen…”

Only the rapid heartbeats and blood pumps of the ministers are echoed in the room; Its seeping reflections of dread are only stopped by the locked doors.

It lasts longer than a minute, but shorter for their hearts and mind to recollect itselves. Just like what humanity will do in its final hour. As everybody finally emerged from the pond of their own cataclysmic prophecies, exchanging a final glance of reassurance with each other, they collectively drew a deep breath.

As the hours go by, the Prime Minister and Defence Minister guides through the Cabinet on every detail given by the report. In their entire terms in their ministry-for some nearly a decade in their roles in previous governments-they have never experienced a continual build up of dread throughout the entire length of a meeting.

In the years of the World Wars or even the decades of the Cold War, no Cabinet meeting, no Prime Minister or minister of high status, had experienced such degree and amount of waning hope for the survival of society in one sitting. It is preposterous that not even a single common Australian will know that such a historical meeting will have been taken today in this very room.

Once the Defence Minister concludes his final presentation, the Prime Minister rises up from his desk.

“Thank you George.” He nodded at the Defence Minister. He takes another, perhaps the final deep breath in. A deep responsibility he must fulfil.

“As Albert Einstein once said along these lines: I don’t know what weapons will be fought in World War Three, but I know World War Four will be fought with sticks and stones. What our Defence Force has is what will become our weapons and humanity’s demise in the next World War.”

“Our responsibility as public servants, as leaders of this nation that wields such potential is to make decisions. And my decision is to gather all of us here and make one together. Even though this is a blind prediction of the future, it is better to have a bundle of sticks rather than a single stick.”

“I pose three options: One, to simply destroy such records, to prevent humanity ever having the potential to wreak such havoc. Two, to keep the records for safekeeping. Even if we destroy it there is a chance for it to be rediscovered and it is better for us to have the information to create a solution that will counter any nation that uses such technology as a threat. And third, we give an address to this nation, to Australians, to the World. We state it to them very clearly, excluding classified details, that we possess such knowledge and to remind them of the horrors of such technology.”

“Now as the public servants that are given trust by the people in our community, I ask you to make a decision.”

Within a minute, a decision is made. Maybe it is too short, but it is deliberate.

As the meeting concludes, the Prime Minister calls for security to open the doors with the wooden facade; To open all doors along the long hallway. All the ministers stand up, beside the Prime Minister, straight as they can be.

All facing the War Memorial, whose sight is exposed when the door is open.

#short story

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8-petaled-flower · 2 years

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Men in Dirty Colours

White snow falls upon these ruined frozen wheat fields, becoming a white blanket for the buried silent bodies of the soldiers. Men in dirty colours that still stand, with frailing white cloths covering their dark bloody wounds, gaze in awe at the silence of the delicate darkness. Howling winds, previously fueling fury within these men, settle down into a mourning breeze.

Faces of these men are smothered in dirt and blood; their empty eyes express their clearest shame. A bright star stands alone above these men in the sky, only accompanied by the falling moon. The day of Christ’s birth had arrived yet these men were waging in their unholy war when darkness was still present. These men in Royal Blue and Prideful Orange were at opposite ends, now united under the weeping white. Their shadows, casted by the dim moonlight, extend into the darkness.

As the Sun rises to shine upon this land, a small and wrinkled man in a ragged brown coat carries a pine tree nearly the size of him, trekking heavily through the snow. The men in dirty colours turn their gaze at this frail old man dragging a pine tree towards them, who places it in front of the buried bodies. More elderly people begin to arrive, coming from a small village only a frozen field away, bringing small snacks or even steaming cups of coffee; offering them to these men in dirty colours.

These men in dirty colours sighed, breathing out their heavy burdens, and taking the gifts with grace. The dawning sun brings brightness to the scene, turning the eyes of these men from empty and weary to glimmering jewels worthy of a King’s crown. Dropping their weapons made of old wood and rusted metal, these men in dirty colours chatted away their sorrows.

Village children, not thoughtful of the dirty colours, approached these men with smiles and questions, like newborn puppies playing with humans for the first time. These men cheered welcome to these children as more and more came.

As wooden tables and stools were beginning to be set by these frozen fields, these men in dirty colours became jollier with the time passing; enjoying the freshly brewed beer and golden baked goods. These men in dirty colours, former fiends in Royal Blue and Prideful Orange, stand with each other in shared white and red. These men in dirty colours, though their friends in buried fields, are enjoying Christmas together.

#shittystory #barelyedited #latechristmas #findthistag

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8-petaled-flower · 5 years

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Back hand slap for the boy who faps.

Me, talking to a friend. 2019

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8-petaled-flower · 5 years

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Tale of the Eight-Petaled Flower

Note: This is just a small made-up tale, nothing of this is real. It is also not supposed to be a detailed story.

Today the flag of the Military Medical Forces for the Republic of China Armed Forces is a white, eight petal flower on a red background. The flower is a white circle surrounded with eight petals pointing North, West, East, South, NW and so on, representing the doctors and nurses are in the middle of the battle at all times. These petals were sharp, like a knife, representing the toughness of battle. The colour white represents medicine and health and the colour red represents blood and the harshness of war. However the flower has a deeper description...

During the Second Sino-Japanese war, there was a soldier from the ROC army called Zhan He. Zhan He was a young slim man, never out in combat always in defense. His battalion was positioned in a small village in the mountains to defend it as well as figuring out tactics to stop the Japanese. The village was quite small and poor, but most of the villagers were quite experts in herbal medicine and sewing.

One day, the Japanese forces invaded the village and captured it. Although the main ROC forces were out, many soldiers are still hiding inside the village and trying to sabotage key targets. Zhan He was usually ordered to blow up communication towers, but one day he got injured from the blast and the Japanese soldiers were alerted and chased after him. After hours of chasing, Zhan finally escaped the Japanese, but was in a crucial state. Faith came as a young lady named Xiang Linli found Zhan and brought him back to her house.

As Xiang Linli nursed Zhan He back to health, she realised it isn’t enough. Zhan was coughing up blood and his temperature still rising, Xiang realised she must find the Eight Petaled Flower to cure him, which can only be found on the mountains surrounding them. Unfortunately the Japanese are not permitting the villagers to go into the mountains, but she went anyway. She miraculously went and returned without being detected. As she started making the broth that will cure Zhan, Zhan saw the beauty and bravery of Xiang and the flower she brought.

After the Second Sino-Japanese War and Chinese Civil War ended, Zhan He and Xiang Linli were married and living in Taiwan. Once a flag designing contest was announced for the Armed Forces, Zhan immediately made one for each, hoping to win. Sadly, only one made it through, the Eight Petaled Flower Flag. To this day the flag still reminds Zhan and Xiang of that flower and their bond.

#itisamadeupfairytale notadetailedstory

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