Colours

It was unusual for any kind of breeze to be blowing through the city at this time of year. The city was braced for change. The flags of the respective candidates blew stiff in the wind and their unpaid volunteer wavers appreciated the cool air and the dramatic impact a fluttering flag might have on a floating voter.

For 5,000 pesos a day I’ll wave whatever they want thought Francisco. I’ll wave at passing cars and dogs, whatever they want. His eye was caught by Daniella, absent mindedly wafting a banner whist talking to a friend. I’ll wave goodbye to her soon enough he thought. All these guys, unpaid, and for what? To get a suit elected?

The group moved off, a blue t-shirted uniformed rabble, lacking direction but working for the right. The unpaids kicked over the A framed banners of the enemy, people in cars stopping to pick them back up as the blues left the square. The election would be close and Francisco would spend the momentous day drinking 5,000 pesos worth of beer in the garage of a friend, barely remembering that the world was changing around him.

Daniella liked all things safe. She liked locking the door. She liked the green man. She had always listened attentively during the fire drill at school. Shoe laces were tied and retied. She read of a 14 year old who was prosecuted for downloading free music from the internet. It was clear warning.
Francisco was not safe, unsafe, even dangerous. How he lived his life made a mockery of her rules. He had no laces in his trainers. He weaved in and out of moving traffic, narrowly missing the impending. He dodged, but mainly ducked. He’d try a door to see if it was unlocked. He was noise, fear and power. Tick. Tick. Tick. Francisco.

It would never last. Life would wrestle him away and she would have to pin her colours elsewhere.