Piazza Cavour


It was almost time. The young man swung his jacket back and forth as he bounced on his toes in anticipation. The older man beside him looked on silently, his face unreadable. The young man had been under his training for some time now, and it was almost time for him to finally enact his plans. The older man slowly evaluated the boy’s movements, every so often interrupting him to correct his form or fix his posture. 
From the shade of the tall palm trees the boy craned his neck to stare up the back of Camillo Cavour. This was partly his fault, after all. Next to the boy, seated on the curb was a fellow soldier, with a bright yellow Three on the sleeve of his polo. Number two couldn’t make it today, so there were only two brave soldiers going through their preparations. Today was the day; the two boys were going to mount an assault of the Palazzo de Giustizia to return Rome to Papal control. 
This was the way that Italy was meant to be; at least thats what their father had told the two boys. Ever since he had explained to them about the immense power of Papal Authority during the middle ages, they knew that religious authority was the kind of government that they wanted to live under. Their mother frequently tried to dissuade them from their plans, but the boys knew that their father was correct. Italy simply would not be at its optimal place in the world hierarchy without Pope Francis at the helm.
This time the plan would go smoothly for sure. The boys would throw their jackets into the air, distracting the military guards posted out front while they ran up the stairs. They would burst into the supreme court, commandeer a camera to broadcast to the public, and then erect a special homemade flag proclaiming papal victory in the center of the floor. Foolproof!
  ….At least, it would have been if they didn’t have to catch the bus to go grocery shopping with their mother. 
Well. There would always be tomorrow. 


(Piazza Cavour)

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