Inevitable

"..... Personally, I think it is reasonable to conclude that the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, while it wasn't the singular cause of the diplomatic crisis that started the first World War, it is the match that lit the fuse on the poweder keg that was pre-war europe. Any questions?" Mr. Alred finished his long winded lecture. I let out the sigh I'd been holding in all day. I couldn't even pretend to be interested in the death of some European prince that happened litterally a hundred years before I was even born. Like, yeah, sure I get it World War I was this huge terrible thing and lots of people died or whatever, but something like that could never happen today. People are so much more evolved than that now.

"Ryder?" Mr. Alred called on the only hand that was up. Ryder. As usual. he always wanted to know some stupid, obscure detail or show off how smart he was about history.

"My dad says that World War II wouldn't have happened with out World War I. Is that true?" Ryder asked.

"That's an astute observation on your father's part, Ryder. Some historians have speculated that the causes for the rise of facism in Europe, which led to World War II, can be traced back to the Versailles Treaty that ended the World War I. Personally, I am of that school of thought. Without the crippling indemnitites foisted upon the peoples the nacent German Republic in 1918, the Nazi movment wouldn't have had the fertile soil in which to take root, and spread like the cancer it became upon the world. Excellent question Ryder! Next?"

Excellent question, Ryder.... Suck-up. Don't get Alred on his dramatic soap-box, he enjoys it too much and I want to actually LEAVE this class on time today.

The bell rings, like a signal in a prison letting us out for yard-time. I start to pack up my stuff. My notes have a little cartoon of a fat guy with mustache being shot by a stick figure in a trench coat. I can't help but doodle when Alred is talking.

"Riley, would you mind holding back a minute?" Mr. Alred says. Ugh, what now...

Dejectedly, I walk up to his desk. "Yes?"

"Your term test.... I admit I was a bit shocked..." He starts. I hadn't studied. I admit, I thought I had a better handle on it than the "F" I got. But it is so hard to care about history class and long-winded old men going on forever don't make it any easier.

"Yeah... Not my best day..." I said appologetically.

"You're an increadibly bright young man, Riley. I see a lot of myself in you and I know that you can do better." Mr. Alred said. I doubt that we're simillar at all. But I know I'm smarter than a lot of the other seventh graders in his class. And I should be in sixth. I got moved up a grade this year, and history has been my lowest grade all year.

"Flunking that quiz brought you down to a 78%." Mr. Alred said, sympathy or pity clear in his face.

We both knew what that meant. If I got less than a B in any of my classes I could be taken off the Principle's List. That would mean I wouln't move on to 9th grade next year and get into High School early. It would mess up my whole plan.

See, I never liked school. I have always been good at it. But most of the time it's so easy, I'm just bored. So, I wanted to get on the Principle's list to be considered for a program called the "Associate's Diploma". I would be able to complete my first two years of College while I was still in High School and get my Diploma AND a transferrable Associates degree at the same time. But the program starts at 6th grade. You basically skip every other year in Middle School so you have all your senior credits at the end of your sophmore year.

It's confusing to me too, but my mom says that it will put me WAY ahead. Plus, the state will pay for my college credits as long as I am still enrolled in the High School. And I know Mom can't pay for college. We get by. And she never tells me that we're struggling. But like I said.... I'm smarter than most seventh graders.

To be honest.... I'm smarter than most adults...

"Look. I know the Principle's List is important to you. And I WANT you to be successful.. If you get a B or better on our World War I test, I'll let you retake the term, okay? That should bring you grade up the requisite amount to stay in the program. Alright?" Mr. Alred was throwing me a life-line. I started to feel a bit bad for how I've made fun of him in my head.

"Okay, Mr. Alred. Thank you." I said, and I meant it, "But... It's hard?"

"Why?"

"Please don't be mad, but.... Why does it matter? Why should I care what some dead dudes did a hundred years ago? How is that going to help me get a job in the real world?" I heard myself say before I could stop myself. Mr. Alred's smile said it wasn't the first time he'd heard the question.

"It might not help you get a job in the real world" He conceded. "But a thorough understanding of history will help you understand the real world. Moreover, those 'dead dudes' are just like you and me. they all had their own lives. Their own families. Their own wants, desires..... Maybe try to put yourself in their shoes. Then you might understand why you should care. Because if history hadn't happened exactly the way it has, the world you enjoy today wouldn't exist in the way it does." He smiled and signaled toward the door. "Don't be late to your next class. Have a good rest of your day."

I left. Feeling confused. Just like me? What did he mean just like me?

At the end of the day, walking home as usual, I'm struck by a strange scent. It smells like.... a sandwich? But not a sandwich I'm used to. It smells like bread I baked with my mom one time. But somehow...sour.

I shake it off and cross the street and suddenly I realize im not on my street anymore. I'm not in my city anymore. I have no idea where I am.

Stunned, I reach for my cell phone to call my mom. But it isn't there. Neither are my blue jeans. I am in some kind of weird slacks. They feel like Khakis maybe? Impossible. This is Impossible. I start to sweat in my long woolen coat. Wait a minute. LONG WOOLEN COAT?! I've never owned a woolen coat. I've never even used the word "woolen" in a sentance. I'm not even sure I knew that was a word before this moment.

What the hell is going on?!

"Gavrilo, pusti! Danas je iskljusko" A guy a little older than me shouts something to me in a language that makes no sense.

Gavrilo..... is he calling me Gavrilo?

I shake my head. "W-what?" I say. But it sounds different coming out of my mouth. My voice is deeper. and the words aren't the same as they were in my head.

"Come on, Gavrilo! Its off. The bombs failed we can't do it today. Run!" The guy, Trifko, says.

Trifko? What kind of name is Trifko?

He grabs my hand and pulls me into a run. My mind feels as though it belongs to two people. On the one hand, Riley. Me. On the other Gavrilo. Also, me.

Gavrilo who is Trifko's friend and compatriot in Young Bosnia. Gavrilo who is taking a stand against the symbol of our oppression who had the audacity to come to MY city on St. Vidus' day.

I am Gavrilo Principe. And I MUST kill Archduke Ferdinand. But Trifko is right. If the bombs failed to kill him in his car, then there is nothing we can do. The assassination has failed. It's over.

I break off from Trifko, and slow my pace to a walk. I let out the sigh I've held in my chest. All the tension and nerves of that past few days rush out with that breath. As the adrenaline fades from my system. I realize how hungry I am. When did I last eat? This Morning? Yesterday?

I cross the Latiener Bridge, and make my way to the sandwich shop on the corner of Franz Joseph street and Appel Quay. My stomach is growling. My feet unduely tired. It's been a long night of planning and moving into our positions around Sarajevo. Even though it's only 11 am, the strain is beginning to wear me out. The feeling of being so close to victory, and yet so far away, feels like a thousand pounds on my shoulders. But a sandwich will sate my hunger at least.

I get a sandwich, walk out of the delicatessen and I see him. Ferdinand himself. His motorcade stopped at the corner, his driver checking a map, his wife fussing over his jacket.. He looks just like Mr. Alred? I pause. half of me wants to shoot him, but another part. some latent piece of my mind is telling me to stop.

"Mr. Alred, keep going. If you don't I'm not sure I can stop myself." The words leave my mouth in english. I am acutely aware of it. And then he jsut smiles.

"Riley, some facts of history, even terrible ones make the world what it is. This is inevitable. The world will devolve into violence and chaos, and it will birth the modern age in all its glory and grief. In its triumph and sadness. But if it happens later, as technology improves, the consequences could be devastating. We may not survive it. But even if we do, everything would be different. Act. My dear boy. Save the world. Write history."

Gavrilo's gun comes out of my pocket. Seven shots ring out. History is written.

Beep.....Beep.....Beep.....

I wake up. My throat is dry and I feel funny. I see my mom's dark brown hair falling against the hospital blankets.

"Mom? What happened?"

"Oh Baby! Thank God you're awake! You slipped off the curb and hit your head. One of your teachers saw you on the ground and called an abulance. Are you in pain?" My mom had been crying. My head didn't hurt. I couldn't feel anything.

"I doubt he's is feeling much of anything with that amount of morphine in the poor boy's system. How are you doing, young man?" Mr. Alred said, pushing past the curtain at the foot of the bed.

"Mr. Alred, I don't know how I can possibly thank you."

"No thanks necessary, but please, call me Leon." Leon Alred said with a slight smile.

"I think I understand what you were trying to tell me now..." I said looking shocked at the man who I could have swore I shot not two minutes ago.

"Oh?" He said quizzically. But his knowing smile told me he knew exactly what I meant.