I Am Curious. I want To Know



Among the Rages of Men

Undergrown cucumbers and tomatoes were the only vegetables she could get to grow these days, but the garden was nearly free of any food. Having a garden was a risky venture but she had to feed the children. The government didn’t like private gardens.They didn’t like private water collection. She figured out long before the stores closed and the food shipments slowed that the order of the world was changing, and not for good. That’s why for a couple of years she tried saving food. Most of it was dried fruits, canned things plus a variety of beans and grains. While there wasn’t a lot of it, she managed. These days when she found time to sit and put her feet up she wondered at how she hadn’t been caught. Sometimes, they arrested people for hoarding food although hoarding was laughable. What she managed to save wouldn’t last long. Water became a battlefield. Everyone needed it. No one had enough of it, and the government controlled it.

Daily living…no, existing, was difficult now. Still, she did her best. Luckily, she was able to hang on to these three angels. Looking at their innocent little faces kept her going.

“How unfair it is to them,” she thought. Gone were the days of good friends and neighbors. It was to each his own. It had to be. Gone was the public trust. Stuck in a world where enemies existed to your left, right, behind and in front cautioned her to watch her back. But, the days of peace and having enough, she still remembered. It was the little things she missed the most. She missed that first cup of coffee on the sunny porch every morning listening to the birds sing never having to fear someone coming. But, there was no coffee.

As a child she used to get up early and walk to a honeysuckle field a couple of streets from her house. There she would pick the flowers and suck their sweet nectar. She could still smell the honeysuckle in her memories. Unhindered, she could climb up the short side of the mountain behind her friends house to where the bedrock slab jutted out over highway 64 and sit watching the cars go by. Now, there were no cars and the mountain had been decimated by the bombs. Not one tree was left on that side. Venturing to the end of the sidewalk was as far as she dared go now always keeping the children in sight. They were making the best of things possessed of the ability to make joy from the simplest of things. In their innocent play, they built funny little houses for the toy cars and dolls they still had. Listening to the adventures they created for them made her smile. Crying was something she did rarely and in private. “I’m mourning,” she told herself.

No one claims to know exactly when the destruction of civilian life was planned though there were plenty of signs throughout the 20th and 21st century. If you looked back to the first and second world wars, there were warnings. And, the good men tried to stop it. But, they were overwhelmed. We had a few leaders try to warn us. They were all assassinated. As the world moved into the second half of the millennium, freedom died. And, it died hard. No one took responsibility.

We were warned. You couldn’t deny it.

[“The accumulation of all powers, legislative, executive, and judiciary, in the same hands, whether of one, a few, or many, and whether hereditary, self appointed, or elective, may justly be pronounced the very definition of tyranny.” -James Madison from The Federalist Papers ]

[“Meanwhile, the former United States is established based on an ultra-liberal model, and various confrontations take place between the US and the SUSA. {Southern USA} The ultra-liberal set in the US keep urging the attack and annihilation of the SUSA…”] Excerpt from Out of the Ashes by William Johnstone, 1938-2004

(Out of the Ashes is a fictional but prophetic book, part of a series of novels, written in 1983)

[“The American Republic will endure until the day Congress discovers that it can bribe the public with the public’s money”-Alexis Tocqueville]

Yes, we were warned.

What struck her the most was that while it was happening so many people believed that the riots they were encouraged to pursue were a form of justice for them. They believed that the violence they were encouraged to act out was going to improve their lives when it was all over. They thought the government was going to reward them financially and all would be right in the streets of America, moreover the world. What they didn’t see was they were the puppets doing the dirty work. They refused to see that intolerance was being used to break down tradition and unity. And, when unity was finally lost they would attempt to enslave everyone. For the individual, it was a truly terrifying time.

At the worst of the chaos came the thieves, the rapists, the killers and the haters. She did a lot of things she wasn’t proud of to survive. Prepared less than others and more than some, there were things she did to keep the monsters, those indulgent, greedy creatures that posed as men, from tearing apart what little family she had managed to save. Shuddering at the memory, she recalled the one she feared the most. He was huge. And, she wasn’t armed. He came looking for whatever he could trade and whatever he could find to satisfy every base pleasure and need. Had it not been for the baseball bat she kept behind the door he would have had his way in everything. A split second of her paying very close attention to his intentions allowed her the opportunity to swing that bat more than once. From sheer terror she did it with a strength and speed she didn’t know she was capable of. Cleaning up was the worst. But, at least they were spared…this time. She feared many more monsters to come.

Growing up, she never felt hate except the quick tempered way a child thinks they feel it for some loss of privilege or belonging. The older she got the more she watched hatred saturate the world. It was the same with racism. She wasn’t taught to be racist but that’s what the world demanded halfway through the second millennium. After watching the government turn on the military, the police and the religious, she saw them incite racism as a way to change the world pushing it into a New World Order where only those with money and no conscience could be “happy”. She had to admit she had acquired a bit of hatred herself. And, if she was being honest with herself she now viewed many people of color skeptically.

The government divided and they conquered much. Still, she hung on to this little house where little worked. She left people alone and worked to survive. In the back of her mind she wondered: “What happens when we run out of food?” She was tired. Praying helped. Lessons from childhood told her to trust in God and not be fearful of what men could do. But, the truth was that when the night came and she could hear gunshots and screams in the distance, she got scared. Men had already done so much she wasn’t sure God could envision the level of hopelessness and destruction they could do. And, it shook her faith.

Still she knew she was lucky to not have been in one of the round ups of dissenters and patriots. She wanted to be what she always had been: a simple woman complex only in thought living alongside others freely and with the convictions of a faithful soul. That seemed so simple a goal. Never would she understand how so many in the world saw that as a dreadful way of living.

“There are no more good men to rescue us,” she thought. So as she found the strength to fight, she also prayed more. She would continue to fight and pray until the nights filled with the kind of silence where crickets could sing the night away while the wind swept softly through the trees under a heavenly moonlight that only peace, and possibly death, could bring.
This is Fiction ©2015

That Dandelion

Peaceful people by the thousands were lined up, and they shot them dead. It wasn’t the government who murdered them but the violent criminals they could not take guns from.

She didn’t really believe that criminals would lay down their guns when the guns were taken from the peaceful people, but she thought the peaceful gun owners and the obtuse populace would be stupid enough to believe it when she promoted it. She was as complicit in genocide as she had been in the 90’s when a certain African country experienced it.

“She didn’t have to worry,” she thought. Her and her spouse had so many billions they could build a thousand fortresses to protect them and no one could force her to watch what her rhetoric had caused. But, her conscience knew. She still had a bit of that. Once in a while, there were no blinders when her conscience placed the unending rivers of blood in her mind. And, images of frightened children still got through. Yet, she kept up the propaganda. As much as the tiny bit of soul inside wanted to change and maybe reverse course, there was just too much money to lose. And, she had learned that money was what would keep her safe…for a time. Besides, they weren’t her children. Someday, she counted on knowing that she could step her feet outside her fortress safely to resume a life where 90% of those she held in no esteem no longer existed. But, then what? Then that day came. She opened her door.

Shocked, she realized, she had not counted on the truth of what came next. Those that were left didn’t want to know her and they didn’t trust her. Somewhere in the back of the minds of those horribly angry survivors a plan was finalized for her destruction, and it was being realized. The few she could see from the doorway frightened her. Justice, the one thing she thought was hers, was going to finally find her. She was afraid. She was very afraid. And, she knew she should be.

It was then her eyes fixed on a dandelion. Although she had always hired a very good lawn maintenance company somehow this weed had gotten through. Immediately, a picture of a small girl flooded her mind as she presented it to a loved one. “What had she done?” she wondered. “How did this one little weed, un worrisome to most, get through?” “Where were her minions responsible for keeping it out?” She shivered. A dawning occurred. It was at this moment she began to realize that maybe, just maybe, her minions were some of the peaceful people, and more than a few, were probably her people. She was Jewish. While perfectly adept at not cheering, working or protecting them, she could not deny she was one. History doesn’t lie. “Hadn’t they been through enough?” she thought. Was it possible she had not only betrayed them but all of mankind? Much too late, there was no place now for heroic thoughts. “It was too late,” she knew. She had done what she had done, and while she wanted to believe her billions would protect her, she had to face up to what she had done. They would come for her regardless of all her protections. Then her thoughts came back to the yellow-topped flower that wasn’t supposed to be there… asking:

“If one little dandelion sent by the spirit of an innocent could get through, what could man do to me?”

Fiction from characters I think had an enormous chance to do right but chose not to. ©2015

A Wicked Paradigm

Murder never bothered her. There in the state where everyone is a celebrity, murder is just a concept that is, not only promoted, but emboldened. When she ran for office she had no illusions of achieving the American Dream or making a difference for regular Americans. She was above them. Maybe she could cajole them into thinking she cared by giving them things, or, at the very least, prevaricate a platform that it was she who knew best and who was fighting for them. Truthfully, she was doing the exact opposite. And, she was proud of it. After all, once she was in office for awhile she learned a few things. And none of what she learned was good, transparent or honest.

There were things she gave them over the years that they appreciated. Most of which was paid for by the people she did absolutely nothing for. Unless she was married to you, bore you, or you were so glib you were able to convince her that helping you would bolster her public esteem, she did nothing. But, oh how able she was to pat her own back. She was her biggest hero.

Long before people knew they had been taken, she had moved on. Adept at falsehood, she carried this pattern into a world view halfway through the decade of the first millennium. You had to hand it her. She was especially skilled at making you seem like you wanted something so that by the time you figured out her schemes she had already buffeted her bank accounts into the millions. By the time that happened, the populace had become numb or so lethargic in the power they thought they didn’t have, that it was totally expected for them to feel like they deserved what they got. They kept voting for her didn’t they? All of this translated into a power that she wielded with a deceptive smile so that even those supposed to be her opponents rushed to kiss her cheek with the sincerest flattery.

But, she went too far some thought. That happened after she began to practice public deception, and she did it with an air that suggested she was queen. Only she wasn’t. Still, up on that dais, she lied and she lied and she lied. Eventually, she was grandly complicit in passing bills and laws without knowing their content or their context. It was a wake up call. But, was it too late? Not only had she done that, but she led an entire majority of lawmakers to her side and inside her conspiracies exposing a soulless body of conscienceless beings. The only positive thing to come of these actions was that many of them lost their elected seats during the next national election.

Sadly, that election was a deception. While the people were waking up, the same men who were voted in to replace the soulless who promised there would be an end to these and other improper actions eagerly lined up to plant a kiss on her, now old and wrinkled, cheek. It even seemed they did it more often.  And, her millions piled higher. Somebody always got paid when she got something she wanted. Always. Each and every decision she made came with a price. Some came with many. Murder, in it’s most explicit definition, refers to the end of the life of a human being. More loosely, it is the accumulative point of ending something. It could be an idea. It could be a lifestyle, a commitment, faith…even freedom. She committed all acts by destroying trust and destroying lives. The farther you researched her decisions and the more you discovered lives lost, an income destroyed, healthcare annihilated, rules broken, words twisted and traditions criminalized. She couldn’t even keep to the tenets of her faith. Money was just too damn important to her. When a high ranking member of her church denounced her, she looked towards the effusive panderers she had become so dependent on to assuage her delusional thinking. One could almost imagine the drool sliding from their lips as she recognized them in their praise for her.

n. noun

1. The killing of another person without justification or excuse, especially the crime of killing a person with malice aforethought or with recklessness manifesting extreme indifference to the value of human life.
2. An instance of such killing.
3. Something that is very uncomfortable, difficult, or hazardous. The rush hour traffic is murder.

v. verb

1. To kill (another human) in an act of murder.
2. To kill brutally or inhumanly. Thousands of civilians were murdered in the bombardment.
3. To put an end to; destroy.

This is fiction based on real life characters ©2015

A Necessary Quietus

She was dying in his arms and all he could think was: “This is the ugly girl I married, not because I loved her, but because she had such a conniving mind.” He knew she was ugly inside and out but the temptation to be able to control the lives of others was just too great to ignore. Surely she would settle for a companion of purpose and allow him the time and occasion to do what he must to satisfy his reckless desires.

“She did exactly that,” He thought. Still, he asked himself many times over the decades what exactly she received through this union? “It couldn’t be as simple as creature comforts could it?” Lives were won and lost. Billions were gained and forsaken on the breaths of men. They had a child together that they shaped in her image. Always, he still questioned her soul: “Did she even have one?” “Did he?”

He had gotten away with much. Most, not all, of his crimes were sexual. He wasn’t particular in his choices except they had to be beautiful. Age and money, often, didn’t matter. Nor, did location. If he could do something, he would. But, her? What was in it for her? During their time together they both mastered infamy but hers was much more deadly. And, it always included money. Most of the time it was in amounts no normal person could ever hope to possess and much of it was attained surreptitiously. She made hard choices that came with the horrific sacrifices of others she wasn’t entitled to. He thought about that a lot.

It wasn’t that he feared the smell of the blood he knew accompanied her bounties. It wasn’t even the mess or the judgment from the people she professed to want to help. “What could she do to him if she was capable of all of such manipulation?” That was why he stayed with her. Stupid, he wasn’t. Looking at that body he held as life fell away, he waited for a sense of relief hoping it would overwhelm him. Part of him was glad the millions she was campaigning to help would not be afflicted with her. Of all the things his talents could do for them, this was the one with the most promise even if it was a selfish act on his part. If he was rid of her, so shall they be.

In years, he knew his time amongst the people would soon be over or he would be too feeble to act. “That was the funny thing about only having one life,” he thought. “When it’s over, it’s over.” Everybody gets old no matter what you do. So, there had to be solace for him before it was too late. Possibly there would be redemption too. Memories of his childhood raced through his mind to a period where he did believe in good and even stepped foot inside a house of God with no more fear than stepping inside a grocery store. But, those days were long gone. A kind of heaven existed somewhere in the back of his mind, although he had so many doubts. Maybe her end would make up for his sins and there would be a place for him if he didn’t find a better alternative. After all, he did it for the world and that was more than anything she could ever hope to accomplish.

Most of all, he would find peace even if he had to constantly justify it. But, would the people whom she claimed she wanted to help, while moving each and every one move towards their own destruction, find it? There were so many.

“It was really quite easy,” he thought. He just stopped believing in her. Nothing she said or did or wanted permeated his mind. He started living in earnest as if she existed no more. There was no debate, no discussion, no listening, no physical comfort, no assurances, no respect, no pretense of love and no more fear. Money and power ceased as a desire for her. As much as a wisp of smoke disappears a moment after it is blown, so did she. Her ego couldn’t exist without him fostering it. Nothing mattered anymore because she adored him and she always had. As much as he built her up, that ugly little girl who was so mad at the world, he brought her downfall. And, then there was nothing left.
This is a fictional story with elements taken from current events ©2015

And, then there is this: