Glory to Our Avalon: Part I



Glory to Our Avalon is a chapter in When the Cold Breeze Blows Away. In this chapter, Edward John Smith tells Su Ji-Hoon about how Vietnam became the first country to recognize the Republic of Avalon's establishment, just happened a day after the signing of the constitution of the Republic of Avalon.

Transcript
IT WAS A SUNNY TUESDAY MORNING in Titanic City when I woke up from bed. I was in a military uniform (minus my jacket) when I was asleep inside a guest bedroom in Astor House. The national anthem of the Republic of Avalon, "Glory to Our Avalon," was playing instrumentally, and it sounded like the anthem of the now-defunct Estonian Soviet Socialist Republic, composed by Gustav Ernesaks.

"Good morning, Avalon!" said a radio host à la Good Morning, Vietnam. "Happy Tuesday! Now, it's time for some morning news."

Captain Smith and I looked at a plain navy blue banner with the coat of arms of the Republic of Avalon in it, similar to the emblem of the former Estonian Soviet Socialist Republic, except the star is white with a red line drawn in it, reflecting that it was a reference to the former White Star Line. The hammer and sickle is replaced by a crown to reflect that this country traced its origins from a old-timey British cruise ship, the RMS Titanic, of which the two banners replace the USSR state motto in both Estonian and Russian into "Glory to Our Avalon!" in English, French, Spanish, Irish and Dutch, the four official languages. The middle-bottom banner bears the words "Republic of Avalon" too. The coniferous branch is even replaced by a coral branch to reflect the RMS Titanic and her maiden voyage to New York which was thankfully turned into something special to save humanity from extinction due to a large-scaled biological/chemical/nuclear war.

"Annyeonghaseyo, Ji-Hoon!" exclaimed the unsinkable Molly Brown, socialist, philanthropist... and now a Congresswoman for the Republic of Avalon. Even the ghoulified Fil-Am US Army soldier named Zeke Hernandez, the Ambassador of Vietnam to Avalon, Nguyễn Huy Khiêm, and some of my newly-reunited friends joined 'em. We had a ten-course first-class dinner as same as what exactly had been when the RMS Titanic was about to sink after being hit by an iceberg soon, even though I ain't first class at all. The only difference is that the pâté de foie gras is instead made out of mushrooms, and yeah, I know it's too darn cruel to make that disgusting spread out of fatty liver.

"Hey, you guys have done the impossible; fine dining still lives on even in the post-apocalyptic world I've already been now," I said.

"No, J.H.," said High Captain E.J. Smith, "Even though it seems to be like that, fine dining has left with no meaning due to a nuclear war. You know, there used to be seven billion of us all humans, until it was then reduced to 2,208 passengers and crew, all three classes -- like me, unlike you. Colonizing the barren New York City with our ship and modern resources help us build Avalon, protecting ourselves from radiation, raiders, feral ghouls and mutants."

"Damn. You guys know how to recreate all the menu items onboard the RMS Titanic, and you even distributed a lot of first class and second class food to the third class while sharing the first class menu to the second class and back. You even grew mushrooms since the first days after the Last Day took its toll."

"Yeah, just like the time when I was searching the abandoned subway downstairs."