The Failed Cause

        We kept trekking through the snowy land.  We were all starving and dehydrated from a long day of marching.  The Winter Palace was only a few miles ahead of us.  We needed to make it; it was for all of Russia.  We were moaning and groaning as children would do when they don’t want to go someplace.  But this was a place we wanted to go even though it was freezing.  Even though we were exhausted.  Even though all of our limbs ached.  But this protest was worth it.  Or so my husband said.  But my husband believed in it, and I believed in him.  The place our fate would be decided.  There were only two ways this would go: we would either be treated like rats, or we would be treated like real people.

        Father Gapon was a good man, I knew that.  I had talked with him multiple times.  I was sure he would make an impact on Czar Nicholas.  He was a good man who knew right from wrong.  Good from bad.  When I saw though that he had made a petition to Csar, I thought he had gone mad.  “Are you crazy?  He won’t even LOOK at it!”

        “Ah, but Anna, sometimes words speak louder than actions.”  But I knew he was serious because I looked out my window and glanced at him taking a walk with hundreds of regular people, workers, and many others who lived here.  But this was no ordinary walk.  It was the beginning of our protest.

Father Gapon’s petition was quite simple, but the way he worded it made him sound like a very intelligent and educated man.  He wrote this entire petition, but he thought of it with the people.  With everyone in Russia in mind.

        Dear Tzar Nicholas,

                Long live your rule over Russia as our great Czar.  You truly are a remarkable man, and ruling over this fine nation is no simple task.  But some things have appeared to not concern you        greatly, which concerns me and the people of Russia greatly.  I would like to pass on to you this    simple list of requests that we would like to put into motion in our great union.

                Many workers have come to me asking for knowledge, guidance, and wisdom to help them  through a rough and bumpy working schedule.  They request that you please change their working schedules so that they can work at peak performance in your astounding factories.

                They also ask that you please make the factories a more pleasant workplace.  From what I’ve  heard from these fine men, those factories are very grotesque.  They ask that you please rid the space of rodents, as well as upgrade the machinery so that they work at maximum potential.

                 The people and I also believe that limitations should be placed on our state officials.  They  have a very large amount of power over our great states.  Power is always great, but too much can     lead to greed, which can lead to complete control.

            Our great citizens of Russia all believe that Czarism is a very great type of governmental     ruling.  However, as you may have noticed, you have unfortunately not established a proper and  just government system with different responsibilities and roles of ruling or furnishing the country  with much-needed supplies in multiple different departments of living and well-being.

            Our great Father and ruler of the motherland, please read over this document very thoroughly and greatly consider our requests.  We are very grateful for this great nation you have provided us with, so please, let us make a few suggestions on how to improve it.

With many regards,

Father Gapon and the people of Russia

We marched forth towards the tall and intimidating Winter Palace.  We all dreamt of what it would be like living there.  The Tsar’s military slowly came into view.  Their intimidating glare sent a shudder down me and my husband Ivans’ backs.  They stood like a wall.  Unmoving, no expression whatsoever.  They looked as if their minds had been erased.  Maybe they had been.  The colonel, Alexander Kutepov, marched forward to Father Gapon.  

        “HALT!” he yelled.

        “Hello, sir, good day to you.  Long live the Tsar.”

        “What have you brought us, peasant?”

        “Please, sir, we would like to pass this simple petition to our dear father, Nicholas Romanov II.”

        “A petition?  No parchment or document will be getting through to Nicholas.”

“Please, sir.  It is just a simple list of only four requests.”

        Father Gapon unrolled the piece of parchment.  Our entire future relied on this document.  The colonel snatched it out of Father Gapon’s hands and marched back over to his wall of troops.  The Czar’s royal guard stood tall and as perfectly postured as ever.  He and a couple of his best men looked over the document, eyes darting from side to side when moving on to a new line.  Finally, after what had seemed like forever, they finished looking over the document, and he ordered his troops back into position.  

        The tension was palpable.  The colonel rolled up the drizzled piece of paper.  Snow had started to fall on our heads.  My thin, raggedy clothing wouldn’t stand a chance against this.  The cold would be too strong.  

        Kutepov strolled up to Father Gapon and whispered something into his ear that was undetectable.  After he whispered the mystery sentence, Father Gapon smiled and replied, “Thank you.”  The colonel, Alexander Kutepov, performed a slow set of steps back to his troops.  We thought he would pass on our petition.  Instead, he would destroy it.

        Kutepov tore it in half and barked orders at his troops.  “Ready? FIRE!”  The ground was only speckled at first, but then it pooled with red.  Blood sprayed into the air like confetti cannons at a birthday party.  Bullets pelted tens, hundreds, THOUSANDS of people!  My husband and I started to run, but then I heard the worst sound of my life.  The last gunshot I ever remember hearing.  The bullet that shot my husband.

“AAAHHH!”

“IVAN!”

“RUN, ANNA!”

        I did as he told me.  That was the end of my husband.  I could do nothing as soldiers surrounded him, shooting at his body and stabbing him with gleaming knives.

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        I returned to my old wooden house.  It wouldn’t be the same without Ivan.  It looked dark and gloomy, not inviting and welcoming.  I entered the house, passing my two children on the way in.  I couldn’t bear to look at them.  The confusion and shock of their father not returning home with their mother led them to ask the question

“Mom?  Where’s Dad?”

        I didn’t know how to explain it.  I didn’t know if I could explain.  I only returned to my room, weeping for hours about the tragedy of my beloved husband.  We were foolish to trust those double-crossing soldiers, having us believe in false hopes.  The outcome had come out just as I had predicted; we were treated like rats.  Filthy, diseased, unwanted rodents.

-Journal Entry 476

  January 23, 1905

-Finn W.