Being a record of certain phenomena found in the environs of the Lost Quarter.

The Advocate

In those days he was a familiar face in any rink or hall. The loudest voice in any room, the most argumentative and certain, though he had more than his share of competitors. He was one of many who had forever been on outskirts of politics, a brash figure those in charge politely listened to and then changed the subject or found someone else to speak to. A tolerated presence because he was dues paying, showed up to everything, volunteered and largely fell in line, even if some of his ideas were impractical. 

That changed after the grippe reborn wreaked havoc on everyone’s lives. Government overreach was out of control, a criminal plot by nefarious outside forces. The federal government was under their control and too far gone to save. There was this weight, this incredible weight, upon him every day. He could not lift it off. It was pulling him under, drowning.  

The only answer was a break, an insurgency against all those who sought to control their lives. Independence, where the old laws and ways no longer applied. He began to advocate for it loudly to whoever would listen and he found some who didn’t just listen, but who agreed and asked, what must we do? He was happy to tell them. We must get organized. 

That task became his defining work. He was certain he knew what was necessary, but there were a dozen others who felt the same. They were a fractious group, forever arguing among themselves and with whoever would listen, splitting off into rival factions and proclaiming the others deluded fools. But they were a noisy presence in any room, demanding attention, and the politicians found they couldn’t just pretend to commiserate. A referendum, one they were sure to lose, was the answer. 

He seized upon it, convinced of his calling. It was not enough, he knew, to simply leave the matter to a vote. The forces arrayed against them would thwart any result. The answer then was to look for support among fellow travellers in other parts who might provide support. He took meetings with one of the imperial factions in the southern capital. They assured him they could convince their government to recognize an independent state in the event of a vote, regardless of the outcome it was hinted. And there might be other supports to be offered as well. Those were left unspoken for now. 

He redoubled his efforts and continued his travels, going to other countries but meeting with the same emissaries or their cutouts. It was all thrilling to be walking in such circles. To be listened to and told that what he did mattered and was righteous. There was also the matter of his debts. Initially there was no mention of them and later they were only touched on indirectly, but he understood from their conversations that these problems too could be made to go away. 

The weight, that drowning weight, was still present, despite how his days had been transformed. A shadow upon all his thoughts. So familiar he didn’t notice how it had entirely bent him to its will. The impossibility of ever making good on it. The inevitability that his accounts would be called in. Unless he could somehow make the world anew.