To Better Days

            Forty-six remained and that was all. Clad in black and deepest grey, they stood in rows beside their tables, each holding a goblet half full of burgundy colored wine. Waiting. The room was motionless as if frozen in time and no sound penetrated that stillness but the crackle of the fire dancing somberly in the hearth. All eyes were fixated on the man who had led them so valiantly. He stood staring back into the tiny crowd with clouded eyes.
            This was the end.
            He shook his head and cleared his throat; his piercing gaze moving from one solemn face to the next.
            “We meet for the final time.” His deep voice shattered the silence, but still the others refused to move. “We have tried for a very long time to fight off the oppression that has come upon us. We have tried to keep everything as it once was. But that was not to be. For no matter the wisdom of our pleading, the people choose to follow a leader whose spoken ideals and promises he had no intention of keeping. But they followed him, followed him blindly. And they adore him.
            “Our war is over, friends. Your great courage and bravery shall be remembered by none now but ourselves. But still I am grateful…” The man’s voice broke and he bowed his head. He did not see that most of his small audience also had tears coursing down their faces.
            Defeat; it seemed so shallow, so empty.
            Their leader looked up, his face once again composed.
            “May freedom never die. May we never forget what this nation once was.”
            He raised his goblet high into the air. Simultaneously, all of the others did likewise.
            “To better days.” He pressed the cold glass to his lips and drank.