The flags of all the world’s people flutter gently in the breeze. The sound of cloth upon cloth almost sounds like the patter of footsteps, though going faster than mine. It calms me as I return to another day of my contentious work. I represent interests which many oppose, a dissenting opinion which is not welcomed by certain established individuals.
Established in 1945, this community of nations is meant to be a forum of cooperation, and an echo chamber is not going to cause change. They began with 51 member states, and now there are 193, and with those new member states come new problems, which some say have no solution. I disagree with those pessimists. If they had no solution, then those benefitting from the problems wouldn’t be trying so hard to shut me up.
Off in the distance, the autumn air rustles a tree full of dry leaves. The bright, mirrored exterior of this building reflects the sun’s light like some kind of grand mirror. On the side facing the water, it looks deceptively ordinary, yet simplistically magnificent. Reminiscent of the Taj Mahal on the Yamuna river, it almost replicates its mirrored image on the water. As for its placement, I could not think of where else to put the international symbol of diversity and cooperation. The autumn air carries with it not only the typical smells of the season, but also of the countless dishes being made throughout the city. All the pasta, pizza, pita and every possible food truck at once. This city holds within it countless stories and countless cultures that you could travel the world just by looking around.
Looking up, the skyscrapers seem to plunge into the sky, cutting off the meandering clouds.
Entering through the main door, and passing the blue clothed security officials, I once again leave U.S. soil. Every time you walk into this place, it makes you feel important, like there’s something that you need to do. The modern art on display expands the mind and the high, vaulted ceilings encourage abstract and ambitious thinking. The wide, arching curves of the hallways and other art pieces create a natural path for people to follow. The architecture here directs the flow of bodies to where they are trying to go, and myself to the General Assembly. As I draw closer, I listen to the cacophony of all the world's nations, all their languages mixing together like the confusion of babel. Even after all this time, this place still gets me.
Entering the main chamber, I’m confronted with this huge panel of gold, gleaming like the future is always supposed to. I look around me and see nearly every seat filled with a tense diplomat. It makes me grin with just how much they remind me of high school freshmen, apprehensive, nervous and incredibly concerned with how others view them. The green carpet silences the click of my shined shoes, and two hulking specimens of modern art observe my trek down the middle aisle of the general assembly from their high perch. The rib-like wooden paneling points upwards towards a patch of dangling lights that sometimes glimmer like far-off stars.
The whole room smells like warm, freshly copied paper. This smell gives me a feeling in my bones that I cannot get rid of. It settles in the core of my person and jostles about, aware of every thing that can go wrong. I crack my knuckles and try to shake it; the whole world is going to be watching. Two massive monitors seem to burden the walls they’re mounted on, and each and every movement is captured by those huge sentinels way up there. All of the diplomats and dignitaries look like small rodents, darting about and scurrying from place to place in preparation for what might happen today beneath the watchful eyes of the entire world.
The roar begins to quiet like a crashing wave, when a man in a navy blue suit and manila folder in hand climbs the steps to the podium. I take my seat in my light wooden booth and do a once over of my materials. I have got quite the topic today, and I’m beyond eager to say what I have to say while the whole world watches. The green marble behind the man contrasts with his platinum hair. He goes on at length about how certain terms are properly used and how there shall be civil discussion given the topic at hand.
His voice bounces off the interesting shape of the assembly and the golden globe map behind his head looks like the halo of some globalist saint. He warns of the dangers of excessive pride, and how nationalism can tear the world to shreds. I see nods among the assembly along with stoicism from those ‘strongmen’ countries, all captured by the unblinking watchers on the high paneled wall.
The silver haired gentleman beckons me up to the podium and I feel the jolt of adrenaline leave through my fingertips when he does. The entire crowd engages in their applause. I walk with purposeful steps. Up and out of my chair, I almost march towards the podium, my stride and posture perfect. I shake the man’s hand and look out upon the sea of different faces. It was as if he had passed on to me a baton, one dealing with the power of commanding the nations of the world. Preparing my materials and clearing my throat, the audience quieted down.
Drawing my first breath, I feel a wave of energy wash over me, and I am draped in tongues of flame. The burst effigy behind me sends golden shards off into the crowd, injuring some and killing others. The concussive force of hot air knocks me off my feet, barreling me over the podium like a ragdoll. The green marble is broken up, and certain parts have been blown completely off.
Landing in the main aisle filled with rubble and blood, my ears ring. I try to crane my tired neck, but only manage to barely turn my head towards the gaping hole. There is a wash of blue sky-light pouring in from the outside, and I see dark figures moving about the new entrance and coming forwards. They move like predators, they prowl like mountain lions, they are waiting for the moment to fully strike. I see their shadowy figures slump along the corpses, looting them every now and then.
I hide beneath the rubble and bodies, hoping to lose them, whoever they are. They begin to do their rounds. The sound of helicopter blades and sirens can be heard outside, and from above, it looks like the black wound in the side of the building is festering with embers and spilling its debris. Let this day not be forgotten. As I hear their wretched footsteps crunch over bones and possessions, I now know they are finally being blunt about coming after me.
