Those entrenched in the corridors of power were shaken. A gentle transition to a new generation had begun to manifest itself politically. The streets calmed, further unnerving the intransigent elders. They were banking on the unrest to be avenue by which to ramp up the march to martial law. Now attuned to the wiles of their adversaries, the movement presented no purchase for a declaration of hostilities. As the tenuous calm spread over an election season, great masses lined up in cold, in rain, in blistering desert heat, to exercise the franchise. Slates were chosen, scoundrels deposed, fresh faces abounded. The unconventional neophytes adopted conventional settings to rally their causes. Looking out over the assembled, the vitriol of past gatherings put on by the old guard went missing. The gentility of the wave of liberality and commonweal mimicked power and peace of the sea in a gentle breeze.
If this was to be different, it would have to stay this way, in a world where nothing ever stays the same. Nonetheless, somehow, the calm confidence coursing through the air made it seem possible.