They say no good deed goes unpunished, but what of the bad ones?
It was my dream job, film preservation. The opportunity to preserve art for generations to come, stories told to those who did not know the world before their grandparent’s birth. In a way I had the power to create my own propaganda with the actions I chose. I don’t regret them. After all, his propaganda films supported the regime that stole the lives of my grandparents, my cousins, my aunts and uncles and, indirectly, my parents, who would not grow up whole and healthy. As I held his film in my hands, the film that brought him worldwide acclaim and made him a legend, I remembered the other films I’d studied in college. The films promoting hate. I’m sure the obnoxious odor of burning film is not nearly as horrid as the smell of burning flesh.
*This story earned a Special Mention in Flash!Friday for the ending.