28th June 1914
(Winner of the 2014 Thurrock Writers' Festival Short Story Competition)
Some people are remembered for their greatness, for discovering a cure, or performing a heroic act; others for their infamy, mass murder or destruction. Me, I fall into neither of those categories... Yet I, I am more famous than most... But not for my life. Death, you see, was my contribution to changing the lives of millions, of generations, forever.
For most, a wedding anniversary is a special day. For me, it was my last. As Archduke, my State responsibilities took me to Serbia to visit their military manoeuvres. In retrospect, we should have foreseen the danger... but we were naïve, and it was to cost us, and much of Europe, dear.
Inspection complete, we clambered into our open top motorcade, it's roof down, to make our way to the Town Hall. Resplendent, radiant, Sophie sat proudly by my side, waving ceremoniously at the throng of people who gathered to welcome us. Exhilaration flowed through my body as we listened to the crescendo of shouts and screams and gazed upon their eager, smiling faces.
Without any warning a bomb reverberated off our car, dropping to the floor and rolling under the car behind. It detonated immediately. Fearful voices shrieked, faces turned white as I watched in horror, realising how many had been injured in the explosion which had been designed for me. There were no fatalities, but whoever had thrown it clearly wanted my to extinguish my life. Petrified, Sophie and I were propelled as fast as possible towards the Town Hall. My heart pounded. My fear was tangible.
The Mayor welcomed us as though nothing had happened, as though the attempt on our lives was trivial. Anger surged through my veins. How could he ignore what had happened? We, who would one day rule their lands were being treated as nothing more than disposable entities.
"Mr Mayor, I did not expect to be subject to an attempt on my life."
Sophie, her demeanour reassuring, whispered soothing words in my ear as her hand gently touched my arm. I knew she was right. The fault was not his, and we were, as she reminded me, unharmed.
Sensing the Mayor's temerity but unable to bring myself to apologise for my harsh greeting, I continued, my tone once more collected, "now you may speak."
His face visibly relaxed as he continued, though his voice had an edge of fear as he introduced me to the crowd which gathered for this momentous occasion.
Addressing the throng of spectators, I read from my crumpled script. Words tumbled from my mouth, yet I could not recall a single word spoken. The event was a blur; I was more fixated on scouring the audience for the same, or even another, would-be assassin, than the words cascading from my quivering lips.
Afterwards, despite protestations we decided to continue, to put duty first. Perhaps naively I thought it could not, would not, happen again. Defiance had replaced my earlier fear. Sophie and I were determined to show the world that we had no intention of cowering to extremists. Yet, rather than throw caution completely to the wind, we did at least compromise and changed our route. Still upset about those who had been wounded, we opted to visit them in hospital... After all, it was my fault they were there.
Precautions were discussed and our route changed to avoid the town.... If only the chief of police had thought to inform our driver of this decision.
Unaware of the danger in which we were being placed, soon after discussions had ended, our driver turned right onto Franz Joseph Street. It felt as though my heart was crushing against my ribs as crowds came into view. My breathing had quickened, not from the effects of their seeming adulation, rather from the fear of death.
Turning towards the National Museum, I heard someone call out, their voice full of panic, demanding our driver reverse. Responding immediately, the driver was not to know he had stopped just feet away from another assassin. I heard and felt, rather than saw, two bullets fired. One hit my jugular.
I imagine those shots were followed by noise, but I couldn't hear anything except for the sound of my laboured breathing. Blood spurted from my mouth as my head fell back, then cascaded down my cheek. Our guard, Franz, frantically rubbed my face. Next to me, my wife, her eyes mirroring my despair, slumped to the floor. Her head rested between her knees, her voice stammering as she cried out to me, asking what had happened.
Seeing blood seep from her also, I choked as I garbled, begging her not to die, but to live for the sake of our children, who I knew I would never see again.
As my life ebbed away, Franz grabbed my collar in his usually capable hands, his sorrowful eyes pleading with me to live. "Is the pain great?"
"It's nothing," I repeated continuously, trying to convince us both I would survive. Yet my face, contorted with pain, showed my words to be hope rather than truth. A nausea encased me as I tried reaching out to touch Sophie, my wife and friend, one last time. I just wanted to caress her pale face, tell her I loved her one last time.
As Archduke I had commanded men, now I couldn't even command my voice to carry out my wishes. Nothing came out except a gush of blood which had gurgled in my
throat...
And so, a single instruction missed... leading to a single death, triggered a war that would impact on the lives of every single person in Europe and beyond.
(Winner of the 2014 Thurrock Writers' Festival Short Story Competition)
Some people are remembered for their greatness, for discovering a cure, or performing a heroic act; others for their infamy, mass murder or destruction. Me, I fall into neither of those categories... Yet I, I am more famous than most... But not for my life. Death, you see, was my contribution to changing the lives of millions, of generations, forever.
For most, a wedding anniversary is a special day. For me, it was my last. As Archduke, my State responsibilities took me to Serbia to visit their military manoeuvres. In retrospect, we should have foreseen the danger... but we were naïve, and it was to cost us, and much of Europe, dear.
Inspection complete, we clambered into our open top motorcade, it's roof down, to make our way to the Town Hall. Resplendent, radiant, Sophie sat proudly by my side, waving ceremoniously at the throng of people who gathered to welcome us. Exhilaration flowed through my body as we listened to the crescendo of shouts and screams and gazed upon their eager, smiling faces.
Without any warning a bomb reverberated off our car, dropping to the floor and rolling under the car behind. It detonated immediately. Fearful voices shrieked, faces turned white as I watched in horror, realising how many had been injured in the explosion which had been designed for me. There were no fatalities, but whoever had thrown it clearly wanted my to extinguish my life. Petrified, Sophie and I were propelled as fast as possible towards the Town Hall. My heart pounded. My fear was tangible.
The Mayor welcomed us as though nothing had happened, as though the attempt on our lives was trivial. Anger surged through my veins. How could he ignore what had happened? We, who would one day rule their lands were being treated as nothing more than disposable entities.
"Mr Mayor, I did not expect to be subject to an attempt on my life."
Sophie, her demeanour reassuring, whispered soothing words in my ear as her hand gently touched my arm. I knew she was right. The fault was not his, and we were, as she reminded me, unharmed.
Sensing the Mayor's temerity but unable to bring myself to apologise for my harsh greeting, I continued, my tone once more collected, "now you may speak."
His face visibly relaxed as he continued, though his voice had an edge of fear as he introduced me to the crowd which gathered for this momentous occasion.
Addressing the throng of spectators, I read from my crumpled script. Words tumbled from my mouth, yet I could not recall a single word spoken. The event was a blur; I was more fixated on scouring the audience for the same, or even another, would-be assassin, than the words cascading from my quivering lips.
Afterwards, despite protestations we decided to continue, to put duty first. Perhaps naively I thought it could not, would not, happen again. Defiance had replaced my earlier fear. Sophie and I were determined to show the world that we had no intention of cowering to extremists. Yet, rather than throw caution completely to the wind, we did at least compromise and changed our route. Still upset about those who had been wounded, we opted to visit them in hospital... After all, it was my fault they were there.
Precautions were discussed and our route changed to avoid the town.... If only the chief of police had thought to inform our driver of this decision.
Unaware of the danger in which we were being placed, soon after discussions had ended, our driver turned right onto Franz Joseph Street. It felt as though my heart was crushing against my ribs as crowds came into view. My breathing had quickened, not from the effects of their seeming adulation, rather from the fear of death.
Turning towards the National Museum, I heard someone call out, their voice full of panic, demanding our driver reverse. Responding immediately, the driver was not to know he had stopped just feet away from another assassin. I heard and felt, rather than saw, two bullets fired. One hit my jugular.
I imagine those shots were followed by noise, but I couldn't hear anything except for the sound of my laboured breathing. Blood spurted from my mouth as my head fell back, then cascaded down my cheek. Our guard, Franz, frantically rubbed my face. Next to me, my wife, her eyes mirroring my despair, slumped to the floor. Her head rested between her knees, her voice stammering as she cried out to me, asking what had happened.
Seeing blood seep from her also, I choked as I garbled, begging her not to die, but to live for the sake of our children, who I knew I would never see again.
As my life ebbed away, Franz grabbed my collar in his usually capable hands, his sorrowful eyes pleading with me to live. "Is the pain great?"
"It's nothing," I repeated continuously, trying to convince us both I would survive. Yet my face, contorted with pain, showed my words to be hope rather than truth. A nausea encased me as I tried reaching out to touch Sophie, my wife and friend, one last time. I just wanted to caress her pale face, tell her I loved her one last time.
As Archduke I had commanded men, now I couldn't even command my voice to carry out my wishes. Nothing came out except a gush of blood which had gurgled in my
throat...
And so, a single instruction missed... leading to a single death, triggered a war that would impact on the lives of every single person in Europe and beyond.