I would be lying if I didn't think this was cringe-worthy.
It was raining, we all wore black and many women from what remained of my extended family wiped out the waterworks.
Well, we had to bury them sometime. My parents I mean. This was the tenth time I was holding their funeral, burying endearing pictures of the two of them in the same casket. Was that cheap? Burying two people in one casket just because you could-seeing as pretty much nothing remained of their bodies.
It's the thought that counts.
I hear and feel my phone ring, the frightening sounds of Mark Hamill's iconic joker laugh. I let myself smile at the visible scares it gave everyone at the funeral. I pulled it out and ended the call. No point answering a scheduled call now is there? Why would I schedule a call? Why, to get out of my parent's repetitive funeral, escape my aunts and the mound of cousins that seemed to keep growing, of course.
I turned around and began to walk away with the phone placed against my ear and a serious look on. No, an actual serious-serious look. What I saw when I turned around was a whole squad of reporters. This wasn't supposed to happen. All news stations in the country were under government control. Wait a minute! This didn't happen any of the other nine times I've lived this.
Just then I got another call. It was Matthias. I answered and began to move toward the closest tree I could find, waving off my suspicious umbrella holding bodyguard.
"Matthias, what is the meaning of this?"
"Sir, it's a simple photo-op. It is necessary for the public to see you grieving and grief with you," he quickly explains
"That, however, doesn't explain why my security let them through in the first place." As I'd become the highest-profile man in the country, such intrusions shouldn't be permitted so easily. "Matthias…say something. Did you arrange this?"
There's a bit a static between his sighing and quiet swearing, "Ah, yes sir. Luciano and I went forward with the idea I had." His voice was quiet and humbled. He knew he'd fucked up.
"Am I on speaker? If not put me on now." He does so quickly and I take in a deep breath, "Luciano, Matthias, you are important figures to the realization of a truly strong and powerful Schelar. You are vital but that can easily change if you continue to fail me."
I end the call immediately after, not needing to hear their replies or excuses. I beckon on the bodyguard and I walk to handle the press.
Bringing in the press wasn't all bad of an idea, we create the illusion of press freedom whilst asking the questions we want to be asked. It was required in fact. But a scolding was necessary. I don't like being caught off guard and I certainly don't like my security being lazed.
They see me coming and like a pride of lion rush at their prey. But I was no prey. Over the flashes of their cameras and calls of my name, my ears pick out a particularly interesting question.
"Do you believe allegations that the Malagasy government could be directly involved in the murder of your parents!?"
I come to a stop hearing these words. My bodyguards stop along with me, forming a makeshift wall around me as all the following reporters come to a stumbling stop.
I pull off my shades and turn to face the chanting reporters. I raise a finger and slowly their chanting dies down and I can speak clearly.
"As I speak do not interrupt. I'll be speaking to a single person." I look about them and ask, "Who asked the question about the Malagasy government?"
And then a short petite young woman bursts through the crowd of her fellow reporters. She had a cute button nose a long slender neck and short bobbed hair. "I did, she says proudly, her eyes sparkled up at me with a grin slapped on her face. I almost couldn't tell she was pleased with herself.
She pointed a recorder at me and repeated the question, her lips pursed with intense focus.
"And who presses these allegations against the Malagasy government?"
At my question, she only smiles and winks. That could be misinterpreted…
"Well then," I say turning to leave just before she shouts out
"Is it also true that the aircraft was shot down as a formal act and declaration of war by the Malagasy government to reclaim their former north?!"
Again I pause. Yet she presses on, "Mister Fatah," she addresses me by my surname and I remember I haven't been declared leader yet, "can you confirm or deny that the Schelarian state is at war?"
At this question and worse, at my dreadful visible surprise, the reporters go berserk. Shouting out questions following her line of thought. She stood there, short as she was with a smirk on her face.
I'd had enough. "We're leaving," I say and some of the men guarding me stay back to push against the onslaught of persistent reporters while I make my getaway.
The moment I'm in the car I dial Matthias' line. He answers on the first ring, "Matthias, you know what to do."
***
Fortunately, the news station that sent that reporter with the leads leaked by Matthias, as well as every other news station had recorded and streamed the footage of me avoiding the woman's questions.
Why is this fortunate? Because then we play the first hand in the narrative. The media houses we allow will run stories of the orphan prince whose parents are the first victims of Malagasy. Yes, sympathy stories.
It'll give my image the magnificent boost it needs before I take office officially and publicly. It will also be the first push towards the island wars. Yes, I have given it a name.
"Sir, the President of Madagascar is on for you," my assistant pops her head in through the slightly opened door, bobbing her head towards my wall.
I say my thanks and she leaves, closing the door behind her. On my desk, there are a set of buttons embedded into the farthest corner. They controlled everything in the room from the temperature to the TV used for international calls.
I dim the lights and let the TV slide down from the ceiling. And there he was. The President of Madagascar.
The man looked young for his age. He'd obviously been ripping the fruits of his labour of hardworking citizens. He looked to me and his surprise was evident.
"You're the son." He says softly, he clears his throat and crosses his fingers, set in a position to recite something I had no doubt I wouldn't care about, "We had nothing to do with the unfortunate accident that killed your parents." His eyes dart around-there was someone in the room with him, "Uh, I called to speak with the person in charge, are you perhaps close with them?"
I smile and nod my head. Thoroughly amused by the man. "I am the current President of Schelar, Mister President. Your involvement in my predecessor's demise is for my administration to discern. You will reap the consequences if any evidence is found linking you to these events."
"You? You are only-" he gets cut off, most likely by the person in the room. "Ah, yes, forgive me for assuming otherwise, Mister President. I call to discuss the footage of you not denying these slanderous allegations against the Malagasy government."
I keep my smile on as he rambled about how their government ran on transparency. To him I was born yesterday, that's why it's so easy for him to lie so blatantly out of his broken teeth.
"Mister President please," he stops mid-sentence to pay attention, "Don't you think it would be best to address these allegations in person? Over here in Schelar, perhaps after my inauguration."
He pauses to think about it, entertaining the idea against the better advice of whoever was in that office as I see his hand wave them off.
"After your inauguration you say? Perhaps. I will consider this and have my people get back to yours." He says nodding, liking the idea every second.
"That's brilliant, have a good day then Mister President." I wave at the unready man and end the call.
He would accept the invitation and would be here not long after my inauguration. I wonder if I should have him kidnapped then.