NationStates Jolt Archive

FlyOverCountry? Yeah, lived 'ere my whole life. The old man spat in a corner, rocking back and forth as he whittled. Sunlight shone through cracks in the wallboards, nearly overpowering the old, dirty incandescent lightbulb. It's been a long time since a foreigner came 'round these parts.... Long time....

Once upon a time, we 'ad somethin good here. Somethin, some might say, golden, though it shone blacker'n black. You know why they call this place Maggie's Cap? No? The old man turned and gazed out the window, a rusted oil derrick crumbling away before the wind and the sun and the rain.

A few hundr'd feet 'neath this floor, there's an old granite cap, been eons in the makin. Beneath all this was an oil field, gushers you could see for miles. The biggest reserve on NSEarth, they called it. They said a lot of things back then. Now, though, now it's only dust. He turned back, glancing at the foreigner.

So what's it like in FlyOverCountry? Well. It's like just about anywhere else I s'pose. We 'ave good times, we 'ave bad. Missus Cassie's young'n died a few days ago, born with 'is 'eart outside 'is chest. A fortnight ago little Arnold Lewis and Miss Lilly Ann Parker got married, a match we seen comin since grade school. So yeah, I guess we're bout the same as anyplace.

Where'd you say you were from again? Didn't? Well, doesn't matter. When you go home, remember: FlyOverCountry was somethin once. No matter what they tell you, remember that. More'n some can say, maybe even most.

We take the good and the bad, work all day and sleep all night. Someday I'll leave this world to the next, and my son'll sit 'ere. Perhaps he'll whittle some, maybe hum a tune. Maybe 'e'll have Grandchildren 'e'll tell stories 'bout me. Maybe that's enough. The old man stroked his beard; white as cream and stiff as steel wool. He gazed across the deserted bar, taking in every dusty facet in one long stare.

Well, stranger, 'ere's a stiff drink for the road. The man pulled a pair of dingy shot glasses from beneath the bar he sat at, pouring volatile drink from a flask into each. To FlyOverCountry, good or ill. I was born 'ere, I'll die 'ere, but fer a short time on this earth, it was 'ome. He downed the drink and limped off, pausing at the door. In the end, I'm proud of it... even if they do call me 'president.'



ooc: Hi to all! Intro Post! :)

Corporate Fax

To the President of FlyOVerCountry,

It has come to our attention, that your nation, contains large amounts of granite. We have much interest in extracting, processing, and refining this granite. All such activities, would be generally conducted within your nation, and we would hire mainly native workers, going so far as to provide training, and such to them. We hope that an agreement can be worked out. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.

Signed,
Jeffery Tambor,
Vice President,
James Limestone and Granite

[DECREPIT BAR, UNKNOWN CITY, FLYOVERCOUNTRY]

I tracked down this man to understand a bit more about his life, about whatever had happened to this nation. That was what the International Inquiry publication wanted out of me. So, I got the facts that anyone already knew, from looking it up in an old history book. As you had heard him just say, the place was a massive oil field, about 50 years ago or so. However, overzealous exploitation of these reserves resulted in quick loss and devaluation of the land. Investors pulled out of the nation, and the economy crumbled into what it is today.

Alright, fine. So what if the Inquiry only wanted nice photographs and a bit of sweet text from the people who still lived here. A few sound bytes from the people, just to have some readers pick it up, look at what terror they've wrought to a dust bowl halfway around the world, and promptly forget about it as they turn off a music contestant program to go pick up the kids in their massive gas-guzzling SUV, maybe picking up some commercialised fast food along the way. That's all the Inquiry wanted, at first. Really, that's all I wanted at first.

I admit it, I'm terrible. I just wanted to get on this land, take some photos, and go back home, drop it off in the office, pick up my pay, and invest it. College for the kids. Easy 10k for a month down here. Sounds like another day in paradise for the work I get, right?

I get off the plane and look around, and actually talk to a few people. My mind opens, reels at what's happened here. Greed, corporations taking over what belongs to the land, and selfishly walking away after it's all done. Another footnote in history. That's all that's happened to FlyOverCountry, it's just been turned into another footnote in history.

The first job I did here was two years ago. That article, where I spent 2 weeks of my life documenting the fall of this nation, documenting the life that these people now lead. I see people walking on dusty, sandy roads next to giant oil derricks, silhouetted against the rose coloured sky. You know that photograph, don't you? It was the cover shot for International Inquiry back a couple years. The old man pulling his little milk cart, mule with a bum ankle walking behind him, and that sign on the oil derrick waving in the wind, advertising the company it used to belong to. Yeah, that one. Just like the one of the Afghani girl staring with wide eyes at the camera, or the one of the Vietnamese girl running away from the town bombed by napalm, or the black man being held by a mob, about to get stabbed in the chest with an American flag on a pole. That photo became one of the new symbols of this generation.

I didn't take it on purpose because I wanted to be famous. I took it so that I could get the story out, so that maybe, maybe someone would care. That's why I'm back here, writing another article for the Inquiry, getting the word out a bit more. I see a few new people here that weren't there last time. Dressed a little better, a little healthier, helping out all that they can. Trying to dodge the rain. Maybe I'll take a new photo this time of them. Who knows. Anyways, enough about me.

All that, that's why I went to find this man. Just so I could talk to him, listen to him. Maybe you'll hear his words the same way I heard them. Maybe it'll spur you to do something. Who knows what, though? Even if it makes you hug your kids a bit tighter at night, or donate some money to some charity, or go out and plant a few flowers, maybe take a closer look at how you're spending your life, it doesn't matter what you do. So long as you do something because of it.

So, because of that, I'm going to keep walking through this place, writing down stories, giving people voices.