text: [Themes: edutainment, drama]
  
  You sit at the kitchen table, the newspaper in your hands. You grab your cup of tea, raising it to your lips.
  
  "Good morning, Michael," Mary says, walking into the room.
  
  "Morning, Mary," you say. "How are you?"
  
  "Good enough," you say. "A shame about yesterday's march."
  
  Only yesterday, the Irish Volunteers canceled the upcoming march that was planned. It happened very suddenly, with little reason. You've no idea why, but the order came from Eoin MacNeil himself, so you know it's good.
  
  "A shame? More like a blessing," Mary says. "Everyone knew if you marched yesterday, there'd be some trouble or nothing. All I could pray for is that all that happens is a few scraps with the constables, maybe if I was lucky the worst of ye getting arrested."
  
  "That's traitor speak," you warn."Do you've no respect for the men fighting for your freedom?"
  
  "I've respect for the soldiers fighting for my freedom to make sure my children aren't forced to speak German, holding back the Huns! I've no respect for a bunch of overblown men dodging their duty to fight to pretend to be soldiers," Mary replies tersely, staring you dead in the eye.
  
  You shake your head, sighing, as you feel incredibly disappointed in how quickly your sister betrays her own blood.
  
  "No, you'd never let your children be forced to speak German. Forcing them to speak English, though that's fine. Let them forget their ancestor's tongue. At least if the Huns took over, we'd only be exchanging one conqueror for the other."
  
  "You're speaking English right now!" Mary snaps.
  
  "Labhróidh mé Gaeilge, ach an dtuigeann tú é? Aon focal? Focal simplí amháin?"
  
  "Michael, I can't understand you when you speak in that tongue, and you know it. Can't you speak the King's English?"
  
  "That's what I thought," you say bitterly.
  
  "I had only wanted you to be kept safe, Michael. Why don't you understand that? I want Ireland to be free, but I don't want to see men be sent to the slaughter by Butcher MacNeil!"
  
  "Eoin MacNeil is willing to die for the cause!"
  
  "Eoin MacNeil isn't going to die for the cause! It's idiots like Joseph with their hearts so full of ideals that they can't listen to their head who die for the cause, and I don't want to see that!"
  
  "To get what?" you ask.
  
  "Milk and eggs!" Mary says angrily, heading out of the room.
  
  "We live on a fucking farm with three hens and a cow!" you shout after her, before the door slams shut. "Bollocks."
  
  You slam your head against the table, trying to think. Mary was always a smart one. Perhaps she's right. It wouldn't be the first time she outsmarted her two brothers. Maybe this is a lost cause. You can't imagine letting Joseph get killed fighting, but then again, you can't imagine living under the heel of the British. You don't know. You don't want violence to happen. But if the British try to stop you marching, protesting, arguing, simply speaking for your rights, you'll have to. Ah, the sacrifices you make for Ireland.
  
  You take a deep breath, raising your head before blowing air through your teeth. You pause, seeing Joseph standing. He stands in front of you, his rifle resting in his hands, clad in his Volunteer uniform.
  
  "Joseph?" you ask quizzically.
  
  "What's going on?" you ask. "The march was yesterday, and even that was cancelled. Why do you even have your rifle at home? No one's marching."
  
  "The volunteers might not be, but I am. I'm serving the cause no matter what."
  
  "Joseph," you say slowly, standing. "What the hell are you talking about?"
  
  "I need to go. I don't have time to explain," he says.
  
  Joseph goes to push past you, before you pause, realizing what's going on.
  
  "You're going to try takeover," you say suddenly.
  
  "We're all going, Michael! The Irish Republican Brotherhood has chosen to strike, to force the boot off our throat and to free Ireland. MacNeil and the rest of the volunteers might not be willing to, but I am, and I'm not going to cower at a moment like this."
  
  "Joseph, it's suicide. I can't let you go get killed for them!"
  
  Joseph looks at you sternly, and you're certain he won't be talked down.
  
  > join Joseph
  "I'm not letting you go by yourself," you say. "You'll get killed."
  
  "I need to serve my country!" Joseph says.
  
  "Then I'm going with you," you say firmly.
  
  "Michael, this isn't your responsibility," Joseph says. "You don't need to do that."
  
  "Either you don't really need to go, or I need to go too," you say.
  
  "I can't ask you to risk your life to protect me, Michael!"
  
  "And I don't expect you to! But you also can't ask me to stay at home while you go to risk your life," you say. "So I'm coming with you. Are we going or staying?"
  
  "Going," Joseph says.
  
  "Then I fight alongside you," you say.
  
  Joseph steps forward, grabbing you and hugging you tightly, wrapping his arms around you.
  
  "I love you so much. You're the best brother I could ever ask for."
  
  "Damn fucking right. Now, let's go make history," you say.
  
  > head into the city
  You march with Joseph, rifle in hand, down the empty streets of early morn. It's not long before you reach a huge amassing of people from the Irish Volunteers, the female branch Cumann na mBan and the Irish Citizen Army. Joseph quickly leads you to one of the men trying to organize this whole affair.
  
  "I don't believe we've met," the man says.
  
  "This is Michael. He's a volunteer, and my brother."
  
  "Seamus," the man says, shaking your hand.
  
  "I'm here to fight," you say, determined.
  
  "The Volunteers didn't come today. It's the Irish Republican Brotherhood here," Seamus says.
  
  "We were supposed to be here. Can't you use the men?"
  
  "Yeah, I can use a few men. Join in with Joseph's squad. I don't have time to organize the men into groups," Seamus says. "You'll be taking the General Post Office with the main force. Do you have ammo?"
  
  "I do," you nod eagerly.
  
  "Good. You'll need it," he says. "Best of luck, boy."
  
  You're handed a black brimmer hat, as well as a yellow Volunteer armband and a bandolier. You're also handed a spare grenade, which you slide into your satchel. The groups break away, splitting off into the various designated group.
  
  The plan is simple. Take Dublin City Centre. There's a large, oval-shaped area between the Grand Canal and the Royal Canal, with the River Liffy running through the middle. You're to set up, barricade and prepare to force back any British assaults until... well, that seems to be the unanswered question on everyone's mind.
  
  You're left with the largest group, made up of 400 Irish Volunteers and men of the Irish Citizen Army. You watch as the leaders of this group assemble in front of you, standing up on some old city steps as they stare at their group.
  
  Tom Clarke, an elderly, bespectacled man with a thick gray mustache stands on the far left. The man's been a member of the Irish Republican Brotherhood for 38 years, and despite his age, the man's possibly the most powerful man in the IRB.
  
  To Clarke's right is Seán Mac Diarmada. The man beams at the men assembled before him, an ecstatic look on his face. He nods to those around him. He leans heavily on a cane, which at his young age can only be from a bout of polio. As one of the most prominent promoters of the Irish language and culture, as well as a national organizer for Sinn Féin and the manager of the Irish Freedom newspaper, he's well known by everyone there.
  
  Next is Joseph Mary Plunkett. The young, timid, bespectacled man is an affluent poet, although his loyalty to the cause is well known. Plunkett was the man who traveled secretly to Germany, making plans with Roger Casement and the German government to secure arms and POWs. Although his plans have gone up in flames due to Casement's capture, the man seems more unnerved by the attention than the actual idea of fighting. You know his family, despite being more than rich enough to turn their head at the plight of the common man, have pledged their loyalty to the cause, with two of his brothers fighting today and his father having turned some of his property into a training camp for IRB soldiers.
  
  Next is Pádraig Pearse, who stands proud and determined. He's the most powerful figure in the Volunteers here, which for a school teacher is impressive. The man's been the mastermind of the entire Easter Rising, and seems to look out at the crowd with a fierce spirit. His brother, Willie Pearse, is also fighting today. There's not a man in the crowd who isn't familiar with Pearse's contributions to the cause of Irish nationalism.
  
  Finally, there's James Connolly, the commander of this unit. He's a middle-aged, balding man with a great thick mustache, who almost seems unassuming. However, as an ex-British soldier, a militant socialist who founded the Irish Citizen Army and fought hard for the rights of the downtrodden and the poor, he's a hero to the common man. As a huge supporter of the rights of women, saying "the female is the slave of the slave", he's even gotten quite a great deal of support from the women here, noted when they cheer the loudest as he steps forward.
  
  Your attention temporarily switches to the women of Cumann na mBan, the woman's equivalent of the Irish volunteers. They've come today to help with the organization of the rebellion, to work as couriers, medics and procure arms and rations.
  
  Of course, not all of them are so content to "help out" in the rising. The Irish Citizen Army allows female soldiers, and there's a few there, armed with rifles.
  
  "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! Would you be so kind as to give me a moment's attention?" James Connolly booms.
  
  Immediately, over 400 people go silent, staring at the figure in front of them.
  
  "We're here today for one reason: freedom! The Irish people have been stepped on, downtrodden, and abused for centuries. The British will not give us our language, they will not give us our culture, they will not give us our parliament. Thus, we are here today to take what is rightfully ours."
  
  James Connolly pauses for a moment, surveying the crowd.
  
  "The Irish cause is one dear to my heart. It's dear to all of our hearts. Together, we have a duty to do what's best for the nation of Ireland. We do not fight for ourselves, but for our children, and our children's children. Every Irish child, here and abroad, will remember the tale of the men who fought today, for freedom, for independence, for Eireann!"
  
  James Connolly sticks his chin up, looking proudly at the group.
  
  "Now, we don't have a moment to waste. All across the city, our forces prepare for the takeover. Let's do our part, and secure the GPO for the Irish Republic!"
  
  There's a reply of thunderous applause, before you quickly take up marching. It's not long before you reach the GPO, marching quickly up the steps of it as you take the people simply going to the post by surprise and send them hurrying to their homes.
  
  "Come on, inside!" Connolly yells.
  
  > take the GPO aggressively
  You move up the steps of the massive, columned building of the General Post Office, pushing the doors open. You see about a dozen people, mostly staff and women. They all turn to you, as your presence grabs the room.
  
  "Everybody, hands in the air!" you bark. "This building is now under control of the Irish Republic!"
  
  You fire your gun into the air for emphasis, as there's a few screams and shrieks in terror as they respond to you, now terrified and nervous.
  
  A hand grabs your rifle, pulling it from your hands, you swivel around, ready to dive forward, before looking at the half-concerned, half-amused look on James Connolly's face.
  
  "Are you alright, son?" he asks.
  
  "Uh... yeah. Sir. Yes, sir," you say.
  
  "What exactly are you doing?" he asks.
  
  "I'm taking over the GPO from the enemy," you say.
  
  "Do you see the enemy here? All I see is postal workers and women," he says. "Hell, I recognize a few of them. Even if you were attacked immediately, what exactly would you do?"
  
  "Shoot them?"
  
  He reaches down to the trigger of your rifle, pressing it as it clicks empty.
  
  "You're holding a single-shot rifle, son. Maybe wait until the British are here before using up your ammo."
  
  "Yes, sir," you say, nodding vigorously.
  
  James Connolly turns away from you, as you turn back to Joseph, who is struggling not to laugh.
  
  "You're a fucking idiot, Michael," Joseph laughs. "You just got told off by the general of the Irish Citizen Army."
  
  "Shut up," you say.
  
  You quickly get to work clearing out the civilians from the GPO, as you begin to set it up as the headquarters of the Easter Rising. You tear down the Union Flags perched high, replacing them with a pair of emerald green flags, with the words "IRISH REPUBLIC" embroidered on them in gold. As they fly high and proud in the air for the first time in Irish history, you feel proud.
  
  "For Eireann!" Padraig Pearse barks at the top of his lungs. "Whilst we speak, a message in Morse Code e is being sent out from a captured wireless telegraph station, proclaiming the Irish Republic! It's the very first radio broadcast in Ireland!"
  
  The group lets out a loud cheer at this piece of news.
  
  "Is it time, Patrick?" Joseph Plunkett asks.
  
  "Sure is," Padraic Pearse says. "Men! Rally around me!"
  
  The group, soldier and civilians alike, quickly assembles around Padraic Pearse, joined by passersby not yet retreating from the armored group. Padraic Pearse and the other leaders stand tall and proud, ready to begin the speech. Copies of the Proclamation of the Irish Republic begin being handed out, as Pearse begins speaking.
  
  "Poblacht na hÉireann!" Pearse barks at the top of his lungs. "The Provisional Government of the Irish Republic to the People of Ireland!"
  
  There's a long pause, as Pearse makes sure he's secured most of your attention. Then, he continues.
  
  "Irishmen and Irishwomen! In the name of God and of the dead generations from which she receives her old tradition of nationhood, Ireland, through us, summons her children to her flag and strikes for her freedom," Pearse reads. "Having organised and trained her manhood through her secret revolutionary organisation, the Irish Republican Brotherhood, and through her open military organisations, the Irish Volunteers and the Irish Citizen Army, having patiently perfected her discipline, having resolutely waited for the right moment to reveal itself, she now seizes that moment, and supported by her exiled children in America and by gallant allies in Europe, but relying in the first on her own strength, she strikes in full confidence of victory."
  
  "Damn right!" a voice cries, as a cheer raises up from the crowd. Padraic Pearse smiles happily, before continuing.
  
  "We declare the right of the people of Ireland to the ownership of Ireland and to the unfettered control of Irish destinies, to be sovereign and indefeasible. The long usurpation of that right by a foreign people and government has not extinguished the right, nor can it ever be extinguished except by the destruction of the Irish people. In every generation the Irish people have asserted their right to national freedom and sovereignty; six times during the past three hundred years they have asserted it in arms. Standing on that fundamental right and again asserting it in arms in the face of the world, we hereby proclaim the Irish Republic as a Sovereign Independent State, and we pledge our lives and the lives of our comrades in arms to the cause of its freedom, of its welfare, and of its exaltation among the nations."
  
  "Long live Wolfe Tone!" a voice cries, in praise of the long dead rebellion leader.
  
  "The Irish Republic is entitled to, and hereby claims, the allegiance of every Irishman and Irishwoman. The Republic guarantees religious and civil liberty, equal rights and equal opportunities to all its citizens, and declares its resolve to pursue the happiness and prosperity of the whole nation and of all its parts, cherishing all of the children of the nation equally, and oblivious of the differences carefully fostered by an alien Government, which have divided a minority from the majority in the past."
  
  This raises a cheer. The idea that Catholics and Protestants will stand side by side is a near alien one. Although, there are quite a few Protestants among you. Perhaps there are Protestants and Catholics can be at peace under the Republic.
  
  "Until our arms have brought the opportune moment for the establishment of a permanent National Government, representative of the whole people of Ireland and elected by the suffrages of all her men and women, the Provisional Government, hereby constituted, will administer the civil and military affairs of the Republic in trust for the people."
  
  Padraic Pearse pauses again, as every pair of eyes on the street is on him.
  
  "We place the cause of the Irish Republic under the protection of the Most High God, Whose blessing we invoke upon our arms, and we pray that no one who serves that cause will dishonour it by cowardice, inhumanity, or rapine. In this supreme hour the Irish nation must, by its valour and discipline, and by the readiness of its children to sacrifice themselves for the common good, prove itself worthy of the august destiny to which it is called."
  
  As he finishes, there's a thundering of applause, as the entire street celebrates. Padraic Pearse is grins for a moment, savoring the joy again, before letting out a yell as he turns back to stern.
  
  "Now, men! To arms!" Padraic Pearse shouts. "We've declared the republic! Now, let's protect it!"
  
  > The Next Day...
  Over the next day, the rising is generally non-violent, as the police are pushed out of the city. The British military are caught completely by surprise and aren't able to repel your forces, simply retreating and preparing for an attack.Besides the GPO, the Four Courts, St Stephen's Green, Dublin City Hall and South Dublin Union. Within the first day, the British forces had been crushed, with little actual fighting taking place. The police are withdrawn from the street, and the rebels have seized the city.
  
  You stand inside the GPO, with the Irish Volunteers Director of Arms walking alongside you as you lead him to a recently captured British soldier. The man, known mainly as The O'Rahilly, wasn't a member of the IRB, and thus wasn't told about the Rising until a day later. He drove here in his motorcar, showing him with a grin and a fervor to do his patriotic duty.
  
  "Did you really need to come here?" one of the other soldiers escorting them says. "You didn't support an armed action, did you?"
  
  "Well, I've helped to wind up the clock -- I might as well hear it strike!" he says, grinning. "I'll do my duty to this new republic happily."
  
  He's quickly led to the British soldier, who is tied up in telephone wire in a telephone box. Outside, the soldier who caught him stands, looking at the two of you.
  
  "Good evening, boy. I don't believe I've met you," the O'Rahilly says.
  
  "It's Michael, sir. Michael Collins," the guard says.
  
  "Well done capturing this man. You're a credit to the nation."
  
  "Thank you, sir," Michael Collins says.
  
  Michael Collins leaves the O'Rahilly and you in, to look at the tied up, captured soldier.
  
  He looks at him, shaking his head.
  
  "Jesus, are you alright, man?" he asks.
  
  The soldier only nods in response.
  
  "Can I get you anything? Food, water? I'm really sorry about this whole situation, but you know how armed combat is. Hopefully, we can be gentlemen about this."
  
  The O'Rahilly turns to the soldier to his left, nodding vigorously.
  
  "I want this officer to watch the safe to see that nothing is touched. You will see that no harm comes to him."
  
  The soldier nods, as the O'Rahilly turns to you.
  
  "Alright, thanks for showing me the way. Go return to your post, soldier, a pleasure meeting you. What did you say your name was?"
  
  "Michael, sir. Michael McCarthy," he says.
  
  "Pleasure to meet you, Michael," he says, shaking your hand. "God bless you and your service."
  
  You nod, before you begin walking down back to the streets, as you hurry to a nearby barricade set up in the streets to repel a British attack. You take your post there, lined up with Joseph and a few other soldiers.
  
  Over the next few hours, you're left guarding there, with no attacks. As you're the headquarters in the center of the Rebel-controlled territory, the British aren't able to directly attack.
  
  After a few hours, late in the evening, you're left smoking a cigarette, staring out across the barricade of chairs, barrels and bricks tossed haphazardly into a wall. Joseph walks back and forth, clearly bored.
  
  "God, this freedom fighting can get boring, can't it?" Joseph says.
  
  "Shut up and do your duty, you dopey fool!" Liam, another soldier, shouts from across the duty, as there's a few laughs.
  
  "Jesus, Liam, that's not what your...!" Joseph replies with a laugh,
  
  "Shut up!" you say suddenly, pausing as you hear a faint whistling in the air. "Shit, get...!"
  
  The ground explodes, as an explosive shell smashes into the barricade, exploding it in a shower of shrapnel. You're docked off your feet, sent flying through the air as you smack into the ground. Shells begin slamming into the barricade, the street and the room around you, as explosions tear through the city. There's a terrified scream, as a Volunteer is showered with wooden shrapnel from a destroyed table, killing him instantly. Another shell hits a man directly, setting him off in a red mist of gore.
  
  "Fuck, shelling!" someone screams.
  
  "What's going on?!" you yell.
  
  "The British have sailed a gunboat up the River Liffey!" someone yells.
  
  You swear, keeping low as you wonder what to do.
  
  > hold your positions
  "Hold your positions!" you yell, staying firm at your barricade. "We can't afford to retreat!"
  
  "What?! Michael! We! Need! To! RUN!" Joseph screams at the top of his lungs.
  
  "We can'...!"
  
  A shell slams into the ground next to you, as shrapnel bursts through the air, showering you with it as you're blown off the ground. You fly through the air as flaming hot chunks of metal slices through your flesh, breaking your body against the hard stone ground. You groan, as your blood begins to soak through your clothes and pool around you, as you're left lying in a pool of your crimson life source. You let out a gasp for help, before your strength is quickly drained, and you collapse to the ground.