Why did the Soviet Union collapse?

 

San Francisco 2028

 

In the afterglow of sunset, a woman entered the church. [1] From the dusty rafters overhead, the mildewed light beat down on the influx of last-minute arrivals. The air nervously brimmed with the ancient aroma of incense and the hum of hundreds haphazardly hobbling around the hall.

 

The crowd had assembled from all over the neighborhood. There was a collective sense of confusion… and dread.

 

Hope had no idea what the right thing to do was. Far from confident in her conviction, none of the choices seemed to make any sense.

 

All she cared about was for everyone to be secure, to be free, for the fighting to end.

 

Alone in a booth beneath a stained-glass portrait of Mary on the sanctuary's far western wall directly beneath the altar, the 40-year old momentarily paused, her eyes glazed over while peering down at the mundane, perfunctory form in front of her as she reflected on the misfortune of the past few years. 

 

Even if there were a candidate she could believe in, would her vote matter?

 

Would it count?

 

An elderly woman sneezed in the booth next to hers. Instinctively, Hope reached up to her chest to adjust her mask. Instead she clutched a simple silver cross suspended along her neckline, suddenly realizing that it had been years since she had last covered her face. 

 

Fuming, not entirely aware of the reason behind the reflexive anger, Hope closed her eyes as she caressed the crucifix between her pointer and thumb. 

 

Instantly she returned to the windy morning when we first met next to the basin a decade before. I’ll never forget the moment when our eyes locked. She had the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. There are no words that can describe just how beautiful they were— are. Seeing them widen as she smiled at me felt like I was seeing the world for the first time. 

 

It was the happiest day of my life.

 

-Do you need more time?

 

The beady-eyed poll worker behind Hope nervously prodded. The blackness of the night sky had erased any trace of the evening’s crimson awakening and the precinct was scheduled to close in a few minutes. 

 

With a reluctant flourish, Hope struck the final box outstanding with a worn ballpoint pen, briefly reviewed her selections, then slipped the parchment into the secure ballot box behind the booth. Her frustration melted into catharsis, a state of inner peace. 

 

Hope headed home to her apartment a few blocks away, stuttering to the last prospective voter in line as she exited:

 

-It’s in God’s hands now. 

 

***

 

San Francisco 2026

 

-We need your help? Will you help us? [2]

 

***

 

Washington, DC 2021

 

-Stop questioning everything. You’re overthinking. Remember what we agreed on: take my words at face value.

 

-I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’re right. I promise I’ll stop second-guessing. I trust you. [3]