Remember, remember the fifth of November,

The gunpowder, treason and plot,

I see of no reason why gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot.

 

 

In 1604 a group of disaffected Catholics decided that they had a belly full of Protestant King James.

 

One Guy Fawkes tried to blow up Parliament and King James with many kegs of gunpowder. It didn't work out and Fawkes was executed but November fifth has been an unofficial holiday in Great Britain and many countries in the Commonwealth ever since.

 

Although the Gunpowder Plot didn't work out, it did serve as a wake up call to an arrogant king that the people wouldn't put up with his shit forever.

 

Fawkes ghost was recently resurrected by a graphic novel and movie called V for Vendetta.

 

I shan't waste your time by giving up the plot. That is a joy that you should discover yourself. The story does raise questions about what some people would do to be free. This is a question that many Americans couldn't be bothered with but we had better start.

 

Dictatorships don't arrive escorted by marching bands. Dictatorships creep in quietly like a fog, with whispered conspiracies, labeling dissidents unpatriotic and making scapegoats of unpopular minorities. Does this sound at all familiar or have you been too busy watching MTV to notice?

 

 

Valarie's Story

 

I was born in a rainy burg in

Nottingham in 1975. I passed my

eleven plus and went to girl's

grammar.

 

I met my first girlfriend at

school. Her name was Sara. Her

wrists. Her wrists were beautiful.

 

I sat in biology class staring at

the pickled rabbit fetus while Mr.

Our teacher said it was an adolescent

phase that people outgrew.

 

Sara did. I didn't.

 

 

In 1994, I stopped pretending and

took a girl called Christine home

to meet my parents.

 

A week later I moved to London to

go to college and study drama. My

mother said I broke her heart.

 

But it was my integrity that was

important. Is that so selfish? It

sells for so little but it's all we

have left in this place...

 

It is the very last inch of us...

But within that inch we are free.

 

London. I was happy in London.

 

I played Dandini in Cinderella.

 

The world was strange and rustling

with invisible crowds behind the

hot lights and all that breathless

glamour.

 

Work improved. I got small film

roles, then bigger ones.

 

In 2006, I starred in "The Salt

Flats." That's where I met Ruth.

We fell in love.

 

Every Valentine's Day she sent me

roses and, oh god, we had so much.

Those were the best three years of

my life.

 

In 2010, they came.

 

And after that there were no more roses...

Not for anybody.

 

After the takeover, they started

rounding up the gays. They took

Ruth while she was out looking for

food.

 

Why are they so frightened of us?

 

They burned her face with

cigarettes and made her give them

my name. She signed a statement

saying I'd seduced her.

 

I didn't blame her. God, I loved

her but I didn't blame her.

 

But she did.

She killed herself in her cell.

She couldn't live with betraying

me, with giving up that last inch.

Oh, Ruth.

 

They came for me. They shaved off

my hair. They held my head down a

toilet and told lesbian jokes.

They brought me here and pumped me

full of chemicals.

 

I can't feel my tongue. I can't speak.

 

It is strange that my life should

end in such a terrible place but

for three years I had roses and

apologized to no one.

 

I shall die here. Every inch of me

shall perish...

 

Except one.

 

An inch. It is small and fragile

and it's the only thing in the

world that's worth having.

 

We must never lose it or sell it or

give it away. We must never let

them take it from us.

 

I don't know who you are but I hope

you escape this place. I hope that

the world turns and things get

better and that one day people have

roses again.

 

I don't know who you are but I love

you.

 

I love you.

 

Valerie.

 

Excerpt from V for Vendetta by Alan Moore and David Lloyd.