Cara Lugo [Complete]

Chapter Three: A Prince and a King

Writing:

Protests have always been a way for the commoners to get their way. Those that hold no power for most of their lives can sway whole governments for brief periods, but only if they band together. No single person can look an oppressive system in the eye and tear it down singlehandedly. Then again, that is what stops many changes from happening in the first place. You step back and stay quiet, not wanting to speak because it would do so little, never realizing that everyone else would think the same way. The masses turn their back in fright, never thinking that if they all surged forward as one unit, they could defeat any foe.

Ah, but who cared about what could be when you knew it would never happen? A call to action that could never be was useless.

So, there people stood, quiet and happy in their ignorance. Blind to the goings on of the world because it was harder to go against the flow of the river than to float with it. It was more comfortable this way, and most sane people don't actively look for uncomfortable situations.

Therefore no one ever sees change. In the long run, this dislike of discomfort and confrontation gives those in power to wield that power willy-nilly. Well, alright, perhaps a bit subtler, but the same theory all the same. Then you become the pack mules to work so they can roll in their riches in secure comfort.

Broken people cannot fight back.

* * *

Storyline:

"Hi, who do we have the pleasure of meeting today?" Lara's fake-happy voice rings out.

"Giorgio, ma'am." Comes the answer. "I am here to talk to someone named Cara?"

"Cara?"

"This is the Lugo household, no? I am in the wrong place?"

A sigh was auditable. "No, no you are not."

Cara flinches all the way in the kitchen, already envisioning the tired look in her mother's eyes, but she was confused, too. Why was she in trouble? She had been locked in her room for the last while, writing away as much as she could, until her mother came and deposited her somewhere. If she had been caught for something, that persecution had been seriously delayed. And easily deniable.

"Well then," the stranger continues. "I would like to speak to Cara if that were possible."

A pause. Then . . .

"Cara," shouts Lara loudly.

Her brother looks at her across the kitchen table with guarded eyes and Cara quickly shakes her head. "I didn't do anything. I didn't, I swear. I have no idea what this is about."

"If you say so." He says slowly. "Knowing you . . ."

"I didn't, I swear. I haven't set foot outdoors in a week or more."

"I believe you, but that's not up to me now is it?"

"Cara."

On cue, Camron, the father, runs into the kitchen, hustles Cara out, and continues on his way. Cara stumbles out into the front foyer of the house (not that there really was one, the house was far too small for that sort of luxury). There, she comes to a halt behind her mother and looks the strange man in the eyes. She has to crane her head back to look at him, not that there was much of a novelty in that, but in all fairness, it was craned further than usual.

"You called for me?" She asks, innocently, as if she had rushed to her mother's side as any dutiful daughter should.

Lara shoves her daughter in front of her like an offering of peace to whatever horror Cara had drawn to the front door of her home this time. "Here she is."