For The People
Alex Hanwell paced back and forth in his small home. You’re not crazy, Alex, they are! They’re the crazy ones.
He held his head tightly, the voices getting worse. The smell of paint was nauseating and toxic. But he wouldn’t wear a mask, not him, not ever. His head throbbed as he walked over to the couch and grabbed his selfie stick, then placed his phone on it, and walked outside.
It was late summer and the tiny stream that floated lazily by would have provided comfort for many, but not for him. He hit record on his phone and decided to do a final video for his YouTube channel titled, For The People. He was currently at the end of a multi-part series detailing all the reasons the government was crooked, and why no one, under any circumstance should trust them.
“N-n-now, listen up, subscribers,” he stuttered. “The government is not for the people. No, no, no. They like to say they’re for the people, but what good do they do for us? Look around my yard. I have to pay taxes on top of taxes on top of taxes just to have this little slice of life. Just to have one spot where a man can try and find some peace. But I’ll tell you what, the government keeps jacking up the price. It keeps going up, up, up, up, up until it’s too high for the PEOPLE to even afford to live. Now tell me, are these people you should trust?”
He paced around the backyard, the mid-july sun beating down on his balding-head which was gleaming with sweat. His cheeks were flame red, and he was reeling. His heart was beating so fast, that he was sure this was it. He was 49 years old, the same age his father had been when the big one knocked him down. Alex held onto his chest so tightly he felt he was going to cave it in.
It’s not your time yet, buddy ol pal. We have something to do first. Something of great importance. And sure. They’ll call you crazy. They’ll call you a certifiable nutcase. But guess what? They said that about all the great minds in human history. Tesla was considered crazy. Even Will Rogers? Remember him? He invented the term trickle down economics. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer. Nothing more sane than that. You’re not crazy. But unfortunately, you won’t be around when they erect statues in your honor, poor boy. But trust me, they will. Oh, they will. You know who’s crazy? The ones who think that laying down and taking it is normal. Those are the crazy ones. Those are the dangerous ones.
“N-n-n-ow now n-now, people, listen up. This will be the last video on my channel. Thank you to my subscribers for listening to the truth. Because without it, what do we have? We have nothing but LIES! LIES! And LIES!”
He was yelling now, and the veins were protruding from both sides of his neck.
“The needles they give us. The needles. It’s all in the King James Bible people. The Number of the beast. We shall be marked. We shall be marked. But you know what? Someone is going to be marked tonight. The mayor of our town. Stephanie Andrews. The one who spends all of her time in Europe, bringing back immigrants to work here. And guess what? I just got laid off. I just lost a job I had for almost 20 years. And now guess what? I’m going to lose this. I’m going to lose this house, this yard, this stream, all of it. But I will not go down without a fight. Thank you loyal subscribers. Thank you for being for the people. This is your host, Alex Hanwell, saying if you’re not with me, then you’re against me.”
Alex put the selfie stick down and grabbed the phone. He uploaded the video to his YouTube channel and scheduled it for two hours. That would give him enough time to get the job done.
He walked back into his house, which was freshly painted black, and he grabbed his semi-automatic rifle from the closet.
People will look back on this, Alex. Books will be written.
He threw the gun in the backseat of the car and headed towards city hall. Every Tuesday Stephanie had a city council meeting. He’d gone to several, to listen to the complaints of the townspeople and to see when Stephanie was left alone.
The meetings normally went on for between an hour and 90 minutes. The councilors would then speak for a few minutes after the attendees left, and then Stephanie, with Luc Hachey, the Corporate Communications Manager would walk outside across the rainbow colored sidewalk to her car in the vacant lot next to the McMillan Funeral Home.
Most weeks they’d talk for a few minutes and then Luc would walk over to Tony’s Bar for a drink or two before doubling back to his car and driving home.
Alex decided that Luc was going to go with Stephanie. He was every bit as guilty as her when it came to bringing immigrants to HIS town, and having them steal HIS job. They were guilty as sin, and they just smiled, and shook hands as though they were doing something helpful. Something meaningful. They were the devil. Plain and simple.
People will write books about you, Alex. You’re not crazy, they are.
When the crowd cleared, it was just the three of them.
Thank you to all my subscribers. The ones who are for the people, Alex said to himself, smiling. The gun pointed at the door.