The March

This is the first piece of prose I ever wrote which is purely metaphorical. You can pretty much work out what the characters and acts represent. Toss it into the comments if you want.

THE MARCH 

From the northern edge of the city, the people walked irregularly, though in the same direction, the same destination, the same purpose. Passing through the ruins of a security checkpoint, they paused and climbed over the walls which once blockaded the area.

Passing a few at a time, not helping each other, not sure that the others would climb over the wall, not caring whether the other individuals made it past, whether the others turned around and returned back. Never looking behind them, but hoping that the others were behind them, hoping that they did not stand alone.

Across the city in the most southernmost tip lay the government building. On a balcony facing north, stood the president, enjoying the evening breeze. A pair of dark-coloured glasses on his face, he stood stone-faced, wondering what the sound he was hearing was. He was hearing the faintest sound, the sound of people walking, approaching.

He felt a hand upon his shoulder, and a voice he recognised – his economic advisor. “Sir, you have an important meeting to attend to.” The president slowly turned, and, resting upon the advisor, walked back inside, closing the door behind him, silencing the noise in the distance.

The two figures walked towards the meeting room, the Advisor in front, helping to direct the president to the correct location. The president opened his mouth “I heard a noise in the distance, tell me what it is, advise me on what I must do to remove it.”

The advisor smiled, though he knew that the president would not see it, “It is nothing - I shall solve it...you have other matters to attend to.” They arrived at the meeting room, and the president set down at his chair. Around the table sat a number of representatives, the owners of the largest industries which supplied to that city. They were all there to discuss the latest proposed law.

The individuals walked closer, what had remained of it, what of it had not turned away at the first sight of trouble, what of it had not been controlled by the images which were transmitted into their homes, what of it had not been moved away by the sweet voices of promises. They could see the government building nearby, perhaps upon seeing a crowd, the president would realise his people were suffering, his people had voices.

At the foot of the building lay a number of people with weapons, mercenaries. They marched towards the assigned position, taking the same steps, moving at the same speed. Their commander finished his radio transmission, “We have been given the go-ahead from the government - live fire has been permitted.”

The two groups met a few meters away from each other, and the mercenaries raised their weapons…

Inside the government building, the president drank his champagne, and opened the gifts given to him by the representatives, his mind busy on more important matters.