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07 October 2006 @ 08:29 pm
Third American Revolution  
Title: Third American Revolution
Character: Phillipa
Rating: G
A/N: Follows Loss. Many thanks to lbilover for the beta!


Phillipa was not normally a curious person. So when she went into her son’s room one day to tidy and dust, and found the open video case on her son’s bed, it was unusual that she picked it up to examine it.

The video was not in the case, and she didn’t see it lying on the bed or the floor or anywhere else she looked. She went to the video player and pushed the eject button. A disk slid out smoothly and she picked it up to put away. Handwritten on the label was “HB 1-4.”

Phillipa was not normally a nosey person either, so it was also unusual that instead of putting it in its case, she pushed the disk back in, turned on the TV, and sat on the edge of her son’s bed to watch.

A young man came on the screen, a nice looking one she thought, with a kind and open face. He reminded her of someone, she wasn’t sure who, but she felt drawn to him. Although she didn’t quite understand the things he was talking about--overthrowing the government, forced equalization, envy--she wanted to trust him, to believe him. So when he told her to take off her band, she did.

And then the music started. He said it was called “jazz.”

The music was smooth as honey, and strangely sensual. It was like a shock straight to her heart. With a cry she fell to her knees, and with a trembling hand she pressed the rewind button on the player.

“Hello,” the young man said. “My name is Harrison Bergeron.” Tears filled her eyes, and she reached out blindly to touch the screen, touch his face, recalling his own touch on her so long ago.

She sat there for hours, watching and remembering the music, the poetry, the films. Watching and remembering Harrison. When she got to the end, she rewound and started again. She sat on the floor until her son came home from school, and so engrossed was she in the screen that at first she didn’t notice him.

“Mom? What are you doing?” her son asked. When she didn’t answer, didn’t move, he grew anxious. “Mom? Are you alright?”

Phillipa looked up then, startled. And in her son’s warm intelligent eyes, his thick hair, his gentle face, she saw his father. She reached up and removed the band from her son’s head, smoothing his blond hair down gently.

“Harrison Bergeron was your father,” she said quietly. His eyes widened in surprise.

That was how the seeds of the Third American Revolution took root.
 
 
 
Belleferret: skepticalbelleferret on October 7th, 2006 09:26 pm (UTC)
Thank you Mews, I'm so glad you found it effective!