A New Revolution

The sea of people engulfed Time Square. Robert Skinner seemed to speak to his microphone as he explained his plan to make “America great again.” The world had been at odds since the 2016 presidential election. For twelve long years, a cold war hung over the globe and it was heating up. Much like the tension in the crowd.

The crowd stood divided, without ropes or walls. Socially formed boundaries stood between the Whites, the inner city Blacks, the Hispanics and the Muslims. It looked like toddlers threw blobs of skin colored paint at the blacktop. So divided yet they all had the same tired, worn out sunk in eyes that threw suspicious, judgmental glares. The last twelve years has sent the world back fifty years in our social development. Almost to the point of no return.

She waited. Trying to listen over the deafening calls to the presidential candidate as all their hatred and anger began pouring out. She wasn’t going to scream. There was no point in yelling when no one is listening. He droned on over their cries. By the time she snuck out of the crowds, they began to turn on each other. It had finally come to this. She had seen this coming. She had attempted to keep her family uninvolved and safe from this mess. That has failed and now she has a new mission.

There were no more words. Skinner was losing control of his campaign as the government was losing the American citizens. Civil war was inevitable now. She had one shot. This was the last stance before the country ravages its way back to the dark ages. The chaos grew into a volcanic uproar. People were beating on each other. Skinner was being pulled off stage by body guards while the crowd destroyed each other.

Her comrade, Jovan waited for her at the rear of the stage. He patched his MP3 player to their loud speakers. She gave a nod, hoping the mess could still be cleaned. She took the stage, claiming the microphone as Jovan blared the national anthem. She began to sing:

“Oh say can you see,”

Her voice quaked with passion. Her blood boiled as she let the words leak off her tongue as if they carried her every breath. She was a proud American, watching their leaders tear apart her country-men. As intended, the emotion in her voice stirred enough attention to calm the crowd. By the time she finished the last line, all eyes were on her.

She froze. It was now or never. Her hands were clammy and she could feel her face warming. Don’t blow it. With a deep breath, she stuck out her chest like an alpha taking her place.

“My fellow Americans,” she casted out to the crowd of tired, beaten souls.

“For too long have we allowed them to do this to us! Look at yourselves. How long will you spill your brother’s blood for a war that isn’t yours. They want us to be fighting each other to distract us from the truth. The truth that they are the real enemy. They strip us of our dignity while they bleed us dry and we blame our neighbors. We are pawns in their game. They create battles for us to fight but our fight is not with each other. I say if it’s a battle they want, they shall get it. Its time that it’s us against them.” Jovan dragged Skinner back to the stage to display him to the crowd.

“My fellow Americans, raise your fists at the ones to blame for the destruction of our country. Join with me and together we will send them a message.” Smooth and focused, she pulled a .45. With one fluid motion, she let off a single shot and re-holstered.

“We’re taking our fucking country back.”

-rough draft, intro to possible novella