No Control: Preluding Predicaments

The Legend

Micros and Macroxis were half brothers. They dwelt in the area known as the Land of the Rumours, as rumoured to be cursed by the Witch of the SouthWest, Valenti Neniso. Not much is known about her. Their mother, Melianne, and their fathers were lawyers and people with high statures in the newly established Government of Rome. It would take no intelligent person to visualize the barbarism of the time in which they were barbaric enough to become lawyers. It was a crude time, and I cease to think don’t hesitate to think that it was not too long ago, like the others around me.

Micros grew up with his biological father, Maximus, while Macroxis was raised with both his parents at his side. Like any Roman, Micros was ablaze with envy and was belittled by seeing his mother love the second-born rather than him. Micros confronted his father, enraging about the predicament he was in, shedding tears, and eventually, blood. Maximus was heedless, but nothing is the reality. It is only what they want us to think. The myth is all about perception. His perception was that his son was inappreciative of the hours of work his father dedicated to earn for the boy, and as one was no less cruel as the other, the squabble only ended when Maximus lay motionless on the ground. Ironically, Micros was, as told, full of compunction and remorse, that he consulted his mother for aid of his horrendous actions. If this is too much for you, then the preluding predicament will through you out of your chair.

His mother, entirely aware of the horrendous actions he had done, welcomed him into the household, without confirming the thoughts of Maximus and his father Rodrigues before she let a young murderer in the house. Upon seeing Maximus’s gallant looks, attractive demeanour and sleek, stormy eyes, Micros’ insides were infuriated with jealousy. Micros had seen his half brother in the Daily Market many a time, but just short glances of rage and exasperation. The rumours suggested he was a god-spawn. Micros had no justified reason to be jealous of his looks, considering he had his mother’s giddy yet striking green eyes, his father’s ruffled grey hair and his charming but viperous smile, with a strong physique and all. No one can really ask him the real reason of his jealousy, but we all have our assumptions.

Microxis knew his half brother was a murderer. He had noticed the gruesome whispers of the countrymen, people who spread laughter, and people who wasted tears, and people who gave browsed his figure mournfully as he passed them at the Market with Micros next to him. He knew something was up, and as a result, he kept his distance.

The Land of the Rumours was not called the Land of the Rumours for nothing. In a few years time, the brothers were skyrocketing with their businesses that they created with the influence of their parents. To create any kind of business in that time, I repeat, you have to be the most heinous of a hundred men. Soon, the powerful brothers were appointed to create a country that was more powerful than Rome, by some rebels that sought for justice. The brothers were devoted to the cause, until the Venus Celebration took place. The tradition of Venus, the goddess of love, choosing her favourite mortal on Earth was the most anticipated event of the year. As if right on cue, she picked Macroxis, but in the area there was hardly any salvation for the truth. Most of the rumours that were thought true were false, and vice versa. Only wise men could figure the fate of them out, and distracted men could not. Micros, being the latter, was antagonized, and did the expected; murder. The rumour was soon declared untrue, and Micros found himself in the same situation, feeling left alone and agonized. After the murder, Macroxis could not help him build the country they were creating.

So Microsis and Macrox were born from rumours.

Micros died, but it didn’t take long for the rebels to take over. It’s simple; supporters of Micros lived in Microsis, supporters of Macroxis lived in Macrox. Over the years, many times Microsis won wars, other times Macrox. Sometimes Microsis ruled over both, or Macrox ruled over both, or both ruled their own. It was a hustle. And it continues to this day.

I live in Macrox, but I do not take sides. It’s risky, and irrelevant, holding on to the past that way. The easier choice is to zip it and not let them know your thoughts, which is rare in both the states. But gradually I have mastered myself in staying quiet, yet observant. Why shall they know? Neither are genuinely doing good for my person or my family. But the myth I told is the true one, or at least I believe it is. There are many versions, but this one makes the most sense, or it’s the one that most people can remember.

People call the ruling state the nuclear power, although, to my knowledge, neither of the states has a nuclear bomb. When the states were formed, Microsis was the nuclear power, winning over land in a blink, killing innocent people for fun (the likely of Micros), until they came to a conclusion that the bloodshed resulted in too many warriors being lost. As if in a snap, the wars were over. But the barbarism was not.

Even now, rumours, obnoxious ones too, spread like wildfire. Or ten times worse.