In the Cold Wind

The once-regal chamber was a hollow shell of its former self. Its walls, blackened by soot and time, framed a podium that barely held together. Behind it hung a tattered flag, its colors long faded, its edges torn as if the fabric itself had given up hope.  

At the podium stood a woman, draped in patched rags that spoke of a fallen grandeur. Her hair, streaked with gray and grime, hung in tangled waves around her face. She raised a skeletal hand to steady herself as she leaned into the microphone, her voice cracking through the static.  

“My people,” she began, her voice thin but practiced, echoing with the remnants of authority. “We have endured trials no nation should bear. Yet here we are, still standing. Together, we can rise again.”  

The crowd before her was sparse and wary, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and disdain. They clutched their thin coats against the cold that seeped through the broken windows, their hollow faces mirroring the ruin around them.  

“Together?” a voice called out bitterly, cutting through the silence. A man stepped forward, his face gaunt and angry. “Was it ‘together’ when you and your cronies sold us out? When you lined your pockets while we starved?”  

The woman flinched, the words striking her like blows. Her fingers tightened on the edges of the podium, her knuckles white against the wood. “I made mistakes,” she admitted, her voice dropping. “But I am here now. I am one of you. I’ve lost everything, just as you have.”  

A murmur swept through the crowd. Some shook their heads and turned away, their hope extinguished long ago. Others lingered, watching her with weary skepticism.  

“You don’t get to stand there and ask for forgiveness,” a young woman shouted. Her voice was sharp and clear, cutting through the air like a blade. “You led us into this ruin. You left us to die. Now you want us to follow you again?”  

The speaker’s lips trembled, her practiced composure fracturing. “I know I’ve failed you,” she said, her tone pleading now. “But this land—our land—can still be saved. We can rebuild it, together. If we do nothing, the ruins will claim us all.”  

The young woman stepped forward, her eyes blazing. “We don’t need you to save us,” she said coldly. “We’ll rebuild without you, just like we’ve survived without you.”  

The crowd began to disperse, their shuffling footsteps echoing through the hollow space. The woman watched them leave, her hands trembling on the podium.  

The tattered flag fluttered weakly in the cold wind that blew through the shattered windows. Alone now, she turned her gaze to it, her shoulders slumping beneath the weight of her failures.  

For a moment, she closed her eyes and whispered, “I thought I was saving us. I thought I was saving myself.”  

The wind answered with nothing but the forlorn rustling of the flag, a symbol of a nation that had fallen as far as she had.