Though.

A long, black train run on the distance of the hills and sun of Tangara, housing the transferring mental patients and men of business. An area of hills and bush, dirt and palm, houses and streets shun by the late rise. And, slightly below them, was a pit of fire ash seemingly spreading house to house, making black smoke caress the crimson below, lighting the area on fire. The smoke flew in the air, blurring the train in the distance as it trotted slightly unsteady on the tracks, the smoke going even higher into the clouds. 

Green, and red, and black, all under the sky of blue and white smoke. 

&

An arson, by the co leader of the Paraguayan nationalist group in Tangara De Sahara, blew up and burned multiple neighborhoods in the region before settling on his next.

‘Kansas’ named after the city in America, that was the neighborhood near the hill and the train tracks, which was recently bought out by a Brazilian mega corporation led by a friend of Palma, Otso Mariana- sparking mass protest in the streets but being silenced by the national guard, once again led by Palma.

His hair gently fell into his eyes as he stared at the almost abandoned houses, most of the residents already forced out.

One house was left, a shitty blue bucket covered in mildew and long blades of grass, a rusted bicycle chained to the front. His brows furrowed,

“Whom could that be?” He looked to his men behind him, the hooligans from the beat up at school and one more new face.

6 foot tall, long wavy brown hair, and blue eyes.

“Vento Fala” was new to this town, and was offering to be one more muscle for the operation. First, they would douse the area in gasoline and light it up, leaving none the wiser, and at last, anyone that would come to “defend” the enemies would be shot dead with the spare pistols given to everyone. This was a neighborhood thing, and the boys knew the honor of their own leaders.

“Oeca Varna and Hernan Crespo” good men led to bad ethos, their eyes glazed with fire and flower, all they wanted to do was end the genocide going to happen.

“Wouldn’t this accelerate the genocide? Our misdemeanors?” Vento Fala spoke to Oeca Varna.

Oeca looked at his eyes,

“Hernan… he has a plan for that. What we’re doing now… it raises awareness. Once the town knows they’re a step closer, it’ll be a riot. Though we have to ignite that sooner or later” his eyes peered to the houses, old and cleared out.

‘One’s left…’ he spoke to himself.

His corner boys held the bright red Jerry cans, advancing on a dirt trail near the sides of the properties.

Vento Fala followed as the last in line,

His eyes peered up north, a figure standing on the hill.

“Riquelme.”

He recognized the house.

&

Sophia gently  spoke to her father through an old landline, her eyes softening.

“They’re burning down the street” Trems eyes widened at her words,

“What do you mean?”

“They’ve begun…” her eyes peered towards the principals room at the very top of the school.

“…?” Trems brows curved in confusion.

She lightly spoke again , gently touching his knuckle.

“My father is coming soon… he brought a few boys over” her eyes looked up to the room at the very top, tears gently coating her beautiful eyes.

“It will be two fires.”

Trem gently touched his chin, thinking. 

&

And in a rusted old factory, laid an old union since the dawn of independence.

“Mora Maca Sada” a Gun and Arms union, paired with a factory of their own. That is where Sophia’s father led the second battalion of Crespos crew. 

In truth, the Paraguayan nationalists led the gun unions and the factories, slowly gathering force by “gently” slaughtering the Brazilian shareholders and managers, “secretly” entering independence. A “Blueprint” was shown to an engineer, a small, cheap, light gun that could kill, one that could arm every “Paraguayan” and “defend their people”,

But the most important was,

To bring prosperity to them.

That was the gun Hernan Crespo was engineering, a phase almost finished, almost ready to release and make the country “rich” by selling to an ‘insider’ (but first, they would protect themselves)

He called the gun,

“Cais” which would overthrow Brazil, giving power to the people, and their home country. 

That was their ‘goal’,

To last until then.

And the principal knew too much, being a former engineer bought out.

&

"The genocide... had already been started." spoke Palma, his fingers gracefully tapping the chin.

 "far before they could ever know" his eyes flashed towards a map, 

 Brazilian territory over east Paraguay, and an opening toward the very north, a new force. 'Bolivia had joined the war' he softly spoke.

it would be the 'exile' of them to their war torn country, where they would be left for scraps, to 'prosper' as a state of pure weakness. And the deal, was because of Brazils 'cooperation', letting Bolivia take money and trade, 'letting in Bolivian immigrants... for trade and jobs' the metro line in Sao Paulo.

.

-----

A sudden artillery strike opened in the northern border, killing the border officers and burning the flags, making red fire blend in with the green palm trees of the tropical border. Guerilla forces hidden by the national army made their way into the village of Estanzia Maneula, opening fire on the local police and military forces, making the young men, the only ones standing, yell into their radio channel.

"ATTACK FROM NORTH" bloody bodies surrounded the border of Bolivia and Paraguay, their bodies limp and on the ground.

some of their eyes remained open, their brows light and in haze, all had been a dream, an unexpected attack from a new front.

-0

and with their dreams, their eyes began to mellow, accepting a new dawn.

'Contando Estar'

'Robertinho Silva'

'Grana Bunfufa'

all laid on the cliff near the mountaintop, overlooking the boys their age holding cans of kerosene.

Riquelme noticed as the boys missed one target, a soft blue hut on the outskirts, taken over by long blades of grass, a bicycle outside.

There had seemed to be one person living there, a woman with the same eyes and wavy hair like Riquelme, the same eyes as well, tears flowed out of her gentle tired eyes.

the neighborhood below burst into flames as riquelme tightened the grip on his gun, his mind feeling blurry and disillusioned,

it mixed with the train coming to the side of them, rambling his thoughts and making his mind screech in confusion and agony.

fire spread, house to house, slowly moving its way toward the blue gem in the distance, Riquelmes old house.

he had only a few minutes, black smoke falling up into the air, popping out in the colors of the city, all red below them,

one of the boys, the arsonists, had told all of them beforehand.

his eyes narrowed to him as the wind gently blew his hair across his eyes,

'Vento Fala', long wavy brown hair, 

and his 'men' made their way down the hill.

&

the fire gently grazed the tip of Trems cornea, the burning splatter reflecting in his own eyes.

a slight turn and twist, ethereal hair blowing next to him,

'Sophia.'

-

A blue house surrounded by fire, a few words were uttered by the crying widow deep inside, feeling smoke enter her lungs, making her eyes burn with tears.

"he... he will come" she spoke, coughing blood onto her own porcelain hands.

a misgiving, a 'chance.'

a sketchbook hidden in a drawer, and in one of the pages, a faint sketch.

a picture of Trem, surrounded by fire, holding a small gun in his left hand.

another word slowly made its way onto the page,

'Cais.'

a picture behind them, a page before, a black train overlooking a fire, smoke and red piercing green and blue.

.