01-03-2020, 09:42 PM
Athlete’s Village, Shuell
Day of the cycling
Paul McNeal wasn’t entirely happy with his performance. It could have been much worse - he could have failed to finish. But coming fifth was rather frustrating for him, failing to get a medal but being really quite close. And the Shuellian had got the bronze, which is what hurt. He had been reluctant at first to even set foot in Shuell, because of his politics. He worried he would never get back home alive. Paul McNeal was a communist.
During the war, he had supported the Chaher government, if somewhat quietly. He hadn’t fought, hadn’t posted on social media, in fact he had remained silent throughout the entire conflict. He wasn’t particularly passionate about politics, but he did have opinions, if asked. And he knew that in Shuell, people with his particular opinions were more likely to disappear in the night than have a discussion about politics in a pub.
“Congratulations,” he said after the race to the Kvaskm, Ud Baskl, who’d managed to come second. “Good to see you stick it to the capitalist,” he nodded towards the Shuellian. The Kvaskm just smiled and nodded. It was quite likely he didn’t speak English, so Paul just sighed and entered the shower himself.
While he was under the water in the cubicle, he grew slightly irate. It was no wonder he hadn’t succeeded, given the stress he was living under. He was in a country which routinely executed people like him! Anyone wouldn’t be able to cope! The Kvaskm probably managed to put it out of their heads better, since their language was so complicated. They probably didn’t understand all the anti-communist propaganada posters that covered the city. But it kept him up at night.
After he’d showered, when he was back in the changing room, he waited until the others had left, and then he took a coin out of his pocket and proceeded to scratch a hammer and sickle into a locker. He smirked at his work, imagining the outrage of whatever super capitalist Shuellian found it and had to deal with it, then picked up his bag and left.
*
A short while later, Paul was in his room, relaxing. He’d calmed down a little: his frustration over the race had ebbed and he was slightly embarrassed about how he’d acted. He was just glad he hadn’t caused a scene in public, so nobody would know. It was that thought that passed through his head when he opened the door.
“Paul McNeal?” an armed Shuellian police officer said, standing outside.
“Yes?” he said warily.
“You are under arrest for vandalism and subversive behaviour.”
All the colour drained from his face. He barely heard what the police said next, allowing them to handcuff him and lead him out of the room in a daze. Despite the fact that his heart was beating incredibly fast, he felt lightheaded. It didn’t feel quite real to him - he was being arrested in Shuell, it couldn’t be real.
By the time he sat in a room waiting to answer questions, he’d managed to get a grip on himself a little, although he still felt like throwing up. It was every communist’s worst nightmare to face arrest in Shuell. He had been incredibly foolish, and now all he could do was pray that the fact he was a foreigner, and from a country that was inexplicably friendly with Shuell, would save him.
After confirming his identity, the Shuellian questioning him moved on to the questions he feared.
“Have you, or any loved ones, been associated with left-wing movements in Lauchenoiria?”
“I thought you considered all Lauchenoirians left-wing, relatively. But I am not a member of any political party, or political group. My father, though, is a member of the Communist Party.”
“Do you have any plans to sabotage Shuell?”
“What?” he squeaked, his eyes going wide in alarm. “Of course not! I’m just here for the Olympics, I’m not planning anything, I swear!”
“What is your opinion of Shuell?”
He remained silent. He was a terrible liar, they’d know if he was being untruthful, but at the same time if he spoke the truth it could hardly go well for him.
“What is your opinion of Shuell?” his questioner asked more insistently.
“It’s too cold,” he said eventually.
“What led to this vandalism?”
“I’m sorry, okay?” Paul said desperately, his eyes pleading. “I just got frustrated when I didn’t win a medal and I decided to wind up whoever found it. I didn’t mean anything by it, I promise I’m not planning anything! I don’t even really do politics, I just talk about it with my mates at the pub sometimes but I’ve never been in a political party, or gone to a protest, or any of that!”
He was getting increasingly afraid, sweating at the mere thought that they could think him capable of sabotage. What if they believed he was some kind of communist spy!? What would happen to him then? He was nervous for the rest of the questioning, even though no harm came to him. He was almost relieved when he was taken to a cell.
*
Almost 48 hours later, he was far less relieved to be in a cell. He’d barely been able to sleep, he was far too nervous about his situation. He was too frightened to ask for anything, or to disobey any of the Shuellians. He just remained quiet and compliant, lying awake with his eyes closed willing himself to sleep even as his thoughts moved at a million miles per hour. He had never been imprisoned before, and he hated it. He itched to be in an open space, to move around, to be free.
When the cell door opened unexpectedly he jumped up, eager for a change in routine but also nervous about what might happen. He let them lead him from the cell in handcuffs once more, glancing around nervously. A Shuellian stopped before him.
“You are being deported back to Lauchenoiria,” the Shuellian informed him.
Paul breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness! He couldn’t wait to get home after all this. It had been very stressful for him, and he resolved to do one thing in the future: to never, ever set foot in such an authoritarian capitalist state again!
Day of the cycling
Paul McNeal wasn’t entirely happy with his performance. It could have been much worse - he could have failed to finish. But coming fifth was rather frustrating for him, failing to get a medal but being really quite close. And the Shuellian had got the bronze, which is what hurt. He had been reluctant at first to even set foot in Shuell, because of his politics. He worried he would never get back home alive. Paul McNeal was a communist.
During the war, he had supported the Chaher government, if somewhat quietly. He hadn’t fought, hadn’t posted on social media, in fact he had remained silent throughout the entire conflict. He wasn’t particularly passionate about politics, but he did have opinions, if asked. And he knew that in Shuell, people with his particular opinions were more likely to disappear in the night than have a discussion about politics in a pub.
“Congratulations,” he said after the race to the Kvaskm, Ud Baskl, who’d managed to come second. “Good to see you stick it to the capitalist,” he nodded towards the Shuellian. The Kvaskm just smiled and nodded. It was quite likely he didn’t speak English, so Paul just sighed and entered the shower himself.
While he was under the water in the cubicle, he grew slightly irate. It was no wonder he hadn’t succeeded, given the stress he was living under. He was in a country which routinely executed people like him! Anyone wouldn’t be able to cope! The Kvaskm probably managed to put it out of their heads better, since their language was so complicated. They probably didn’t understand all the anti-communist propaganada posters that covered the city. But it kept him up at night.
After he’d showered, when he was back in the changing room, he waited until the others had left, and then he took a coin out of his pocket and proceeded to scratch a hammer and sickle into a locker. He smirked at his work, imagining the outrage of whatever super capitalist Shuellian found it and had to deal with it, then picked up his bag and left.
*
A short while later, Paul was in his room, relaxing. He’d calmed down a little: his frustration over the race had ebbed and he was slightly embarrassed about how he’d acted. He was just glad he hadn’t caused a scene in public, so nobody would know. It was that thought that passed through his head when he opened the door.
“Paul McNeal?” an armed Shuellian police officer said, standing outside.
“Yes?” he said warily.
“You are under arrest for vandalism and subversive behaviour.”
All the colour drained from his face. He barely heard what the police said next, allowing them to handcuff him and lead him out of the room in a daze. Despite the fact that his heart was beating incredibly fast, he felt lightheaded. It didn’t feel quite real to him - he was being arrested in Shuell, it couldn’t be real.
By the time he sat in a room waiting to answer questions, he’d managed to get a grip on himself a little, although he still felt like throwing up. It was every communist’s worst nightmare to face arrest in Shuell. He had been incredibly foolish, and now all he could do was pray that the fact he was a foreigner, and from a country that was inexplicably friendly with Shuell, would save him.
After confirming his identity, the Shuellian questioning him moved on to the questions he feared.
“Have you, or any loved ones, been associated with left-wing movements in Lauchenoiria?”
“I thought you considered all Lauchenoirians left-wing, relatively. But I am not a member of any political party, or political group. My father, though, is a member of the Communist Party.”
“Do you have any plans to sabotage Shuell?”
“What?” he squeaked, his eyes going wide in alarm. “Of course not! I’m just here for the Olympics, I’m not planning anything, I swear!”
“What is your opinion of Shuell?”
He remained silent. He was a terrible liar, they’d know if he was being untruthful, but at the same time if he spoke the truth it could hardly go well for him.
“What is your opinion of Shuell?” his questioner asked more insistently.
“It’s too cold,” he said eventually.
“What led to this vandalism?”
“I’m sorry, okay?” Paul said desperately, his eyes pleading. “I just got frustrated when I didn’t win a medal and I decided to wind up whoever found it. I didn’t mean anything by it, I promise I’m not planning anything! I don’t even really do politics, I just talk about it with my mates at the pub sometimes but I’ve never been in a political party, or gone to a protest, or any of that!”
He was getting increasingly afraid, sweating at the mere thought that they could think him capable of sabotage. What if they believed he was some kind of communist spy!? What would happen to him then? He was nervous for the rest of the questioning, even though no harm came to him. He was almost relieved when he was taken to a cell.
*
Almost 48 hours later, he was far less relieved to be in a cell. He’d barely been able to sleep, he was far too nervous about his situation. He was too frightened to ask for anything, or to disobey any of the Shuellians. He just remained quiet and compliant, lying awake with his eyes closed willing himself to sleep even as his thoughts moved at a million miles per hour. He had never been imprisoned before, and he hated it. He itched to be in an open space, to move around, to be free.
When the cell door opened unexpectedly he jumped up, eager for a change in routine but also nervous about what might happen. He let them lead him from the cell in handcuffs once more, glancing around nervously. A Shuellian stopped before him.
“You are being deported back to Lauchenoiria,” the Shuellian informed him.
Paul breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness! He couldn’t wait to get home after all this. It had been very stressful for him, and he resolved to do one thing in the future: to never, ever set foot in such an authoritarian capitalist state again!
LIDUN President 2024 | she/her | Puppets: Kerlile, Glanainn, Yesteria, Zongongia, Zargothrax