The Younger Generation

Take a deep breath, Chi, look at the tank. Imagine yourself climbing onto it. Don’t take your eyes off the vehicle. This green tank is huge. This is not safe. The sky is hazy with smoke from burning fuel. The bright sun can barely shine through the dark skies. Perhaps the dark skies are a reflection of our waning faith in humanity. The government is punishing us because we are students. We understand the world, we can see what is going on, and we study justice. We refuse to conform to laws that restrict our creativity and freedom of expression. This is the rampage of a tyrannical government. As I stand in front of this tank, I’m trying to comprehend how the tank works. If I ruled the world, I would end all forms of violence, starting with this tank. I'd take it apart, piece by piece.

Follow the tank’s turns. Don’t let it crush you, Chi. That would be too painful to think about. Grab the ledge of the tank and hoist yourself up! Be cautious! This is not what other students want to do. I feel pain. I feel pain in the tank driver’s eyes; I feel pain in the wind blasting forcefully against my white shirt, and in my hands, I feel a sharp pain, where the handles of the plastic bags dig into my palms. I hear the gears cranking inside the heavy machinery of the tank. My mind travels back, as I hold onto the tank. My mother told me one day, “Your name is Chi, because it means ‘the younger generation.’ I want you to always defend your family’s honor and your own. Do not let anyone dictate what your beliefs should be.” Her voice still echoes in my memory. The tank driver yells something at me, and I am pulled back into the present. My life is in his hands. If I ruled the world, people would have an open mind.

Keep a good hold on the tank. Stay on for at least two minutes. Talk to the driver and beg him to turn around! I can’t hold on much longer and I jump off. This is failure. This is not salvation. I tried to make him stop and lead the group of tanks home, and he refused. I cock my head to the side and start swinging the plastic bags back and forth. The lifeless light posts lining the streets seem to echo my hopelessness. I look beyond the line of tanks and see shivering green trees between the light posts. I feel the pain of the trees, and a crushing sensation of my own. I have but one last thought: If I ruled the world, the younger generation would survive.