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Trump’s America

February 6, 2017

“I was always told that kids should be seen and not heard. I suppose that’s why I don’t vote.”

-A Pessimist

I was three-quarters into my third beer when the vision came to me as if it were a dream. The main statement that floated around the ether around me in my truck stated something to the sort of an executioner in Florida. My mind took several seconds to bring these thoughts collapsing together. Florida allows private citizens to become executioners!? The process started to float through my head like binary in the Matrix. Eyes jetted right, there’s a thought. Jetted left, there’s another! Minding my brain chemistry, I figured several key facts that need to be adjusted.

  1. I am a college drop out.
  2. I have no job.
  3. I live in California.

These were the key factors that took me out of the running of being a legal murderer. How… After several hours, beers, and miles. I drove to the nearest home. My girlfriend named Sharon. She was not happy to see me, but then again she was a dirty rotten liar.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She asked angrily with her arms akimbo.

“I need to use your computer, it’s dire!”

“I don’t want to see you again.” See, liar.

“I have to make an appointment and I’ll be gone! I swear.” I said with my hand raised. Doing this I showed her my pentagram tattoo on my palm. She couldn’t resist our Lord.

“Be quick.” She said. I raced inside and would have been quick, but I didn’t know what I was doing. How do you apply to be an executioner? After pondering this thought, she looked at my search and quickly removed me from her residence. Smart, I shouldn’t look up executions in a home that housed more than 100 felonious activities in the past decade. Off! I’d go to a safe haven, somewhere where I can find the answers I craved. It wasn’t just a goal anymore, it was a need. I felt it coursing through my veins.

Peace hit me like a wave of cold water. This time I was smoking out of an apple in a local park. Jeremy knew what I was after and he told me something I’d never forget.

“I like smoking out of apples. Remind me of Junior High.” He said, which wasn’t what I’d never forget. The spine tingled and so did my skin. I was crisp. Sharp and focused. My task at hand made so much sense.

“I need a job.”

“What kind of job?”

“I need to get to Florida Pronto!”

“You should probably figure out how to get a job out there then… You’re poor, though.”

“I am certainly poor.”

“You could get a loan.” There it was. Credit. Credit was the key to my journey. This life awareness. To take another person’s life I must gain credit to… The thought trailed off.

I was sitting in front of a representative of Wells Fargo when I realized that it was the next day.

“A 5-year loan is a big thing. You don’t seem to have a job.”

“Oh! I do have a job. It’s my uncle. He’s in Florida. I just need to get there.” I lied.

“Is there any way I could talk to him? Can you call him on the phone?”

“No can do. I would love to, you know that.” How long have I been up? I asked myself when I heard my voice say, “He’s a real businessman and I’d have to call his secretary. She’d set up the appointment for next week, but I need to leave by tomorrow. It’s imperative!” Hours later I was gaining access to my belongings from my nearby mother. She gave me enough shit to shovel and given a few choice words and angry stares I was on my way. The rules seemed to be different on this day in February. The rule seemed to be to spend what you don’t have and save what you do. Physically, however. Then the first speed bump in the 2,689-mile drive hit my truck like a Honda Civic that was driving too slow. No time to stop. I had a job to gain, and an Uncle to see. Something tells me that I might have made the Uncle thing up, but whatever. He’s got a lot to teach me. 

First stop bar stop. Albuquerque New Mexico. The heat wasn’t too terrible on this 109-degree day. I had the AC at a slow seep. Things couldn’t be more peaceful. I ordered a Budweiser, didn’t want the locals to know that I was a faggot.

“What city is this stranger?” I asked the bartender. “Albuquerque?”

“Yes, sir. New Mexico. Where you from?” He responded with a smile. His demeanor was friendly, but how could he be? He knew I was an outsider. He knew I was looking for a place to score some… thing. Shit! I thought. I knew he was on to me. “You seem like you’re from a coast. I’d say LA.”

“You calling me a faggot!?”

“No, sir… Here’s your Bud.” He placed the beer in front of me. The beer and I sweat.

“Sorry, if you’re a person like me. You… Well, it happens and it takes getting caught fucking someone’s sister for them to kick my ass for the right reason.”

“You’re a strange one.”

“Best be on your toes. I’m tired, I’ve slept the 12 grade. That was 14 years ago. I think it’s starting to hit me.”

“I don’t understand.” He doesn’t understand? What’s there to understand? I just wanted a beer and a conversation! I knew it. The climate in the midwest was different. They wanted change, but when they got it they couldn’t understand that it was different. I drank my beer quick and stood up too quickly.

The barstool hit the floor when I dropped a five dollar bill on the bar and said, “Sorry. I’ve got to go. You got a journey of a million feet, well you best be off by starting with one!” He just laughed at me. That bastard! I’d kick his ass! No. Not now. After I kill a man, will I be able to fight like a man. There’s something to be said about a man who’d drop his entire life for a dream. However, my life consisted of everything in my truck and a few illegal drugs that found their way into corrupt border patrols.

“That’s no vegetable!” I  yelled as they struck up a deal with me.

Never mind, I was on my way. Scott free! American dollars at work. It seemed that the world was changing and it happened state by state. Then the sun went down. The moon looked incredibly bright tonight and I couldn’t help but stare. Ever unchanging is the world beyond us. It is what it was for over a millennia. Possibly more. Hopefully more. The car swerved and I was spared. Thanks to thee! I yelled out to the ether and drove on through Alabama.

“Budweiser,” I asked the local barkeep.

“Bud it is!” He placed a cold beer in front of me. His eyes squinted before the words, “Four dollars.” I paid the man and looked around the bar. I felt almost home. However, the humidity was getting thick. I felt sweaty in a cold shower. The bar was a buzz over words like Presidency and Fuck. It was a whirlwind and I was not prepared for the attack. “How do you feel about…”

“How do I feel? I feel great! Our President is my chief and commander! I’d be certain to take a bullet from the man.” I didn’t know that I was standing at the time, so I sat down quickly.

“I ain’t startin’ a fight. I was just curious. City men rarely come by these part of town.”

“I’m not a city man. I live in rural… Idaho.”

“What do you do?” The man spat into a cup that was a little too close to my beer.

“I’m heading to Florida. There’s a job over there where I get to pull levers.”

“Lea-vers?”

“Levers…”

“Like the Jetsons?”

“I suppose.”

“The world won’t be the same anymore.”

“It hadn’t in a long time.”

“Suppose so…”

“Beat them or join them, nobody really cares. Here’s a 5. Thanks.” No use arguing with an old man over the merits of… Never mind, I’ll be in Florida soon and my life can start over where it should have. My driving is even faster now and I knew I was pushing fate but it never came. Peace never nosed its fucking face over in my direction. I have surpassed judgment! I’m the judgment! No! I’m the Jury, Judge, and Prosecution! “All I know is that the wall will keep us Americans safe. We’re sitting targets.” Panic seemed to arise in the bar, so I made myself scarce. Bar? Now I was driving at 80-90 miles an hour with a heavy buzz maintaining the brain. There’s no better way to enter Florida than to crash and burn into a Tampa Police Officer at 4:39 in the morning. Killing her instantly. I saw the Judge. I saw the Jury. Not an empathetic face within the crowd. I knew I was fucked. They knew that I was not right.

Death row is a long wait and when it came I truly knew that I deserved what they gave me. Despite the insipid irony.

“There’s fate for those who seem to lack an understanding. For those who have an understanding over think and squander opportunity.”

-A Pessimist

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From → Short Stories

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