The Bad Place

We are in The Bad Place.

We thought we were in the land of the free. We thought we were in the home of the brave. We thought, although not perfect, we bent towards social justice and equality. We were a good place, working hard to improve life for the future. A better economy with less concentration of wealth and power, an environment where climate change was mitigated and maybe even reversed, where more and more people would get their healthcare protected, where educational opportunities would improve and be made available to all, where housing solutions would be found, where wages would not stagnant, where politicians would work together for the benefit of all instead of the wealthy and large corporations.  

But we were wrong.

We live in The Bad Place.

A bad place chosen by a plurality of the people who even bothered to vote. Chosen by some people who are actively cheering on the racism and hatred. Chosen by some people who were so naive they didn't fully understand the consequences of their decision.

Maybe the election was rigged. I don't know. We're not really allowed to even say that. They can gripe and bey-otch like they did in 2020, but we can't say a word. There was no testing. There were no recounts or lawsuits. Democrats behaved like the good little soldiers they are. And their reward for that? To continue to be trampled on and vilified.

It's making me sick. It's touching closer and closer to home. Loving couples have their very relationships questioned and challenged. The Supreme Court destroyed women's reproductive rights. You don't think they'll reverse gay marriage?

The removal of DEI doesn't mean what you think it means. Instead of Diversity, Equality, and Inclusion, we will get Discrimination, Exclusion, and Intolerance. Raplh's idiot cousin Bofert will get the job instead of a qualified person. Wealthy Ronald will get to put his son, who barely graduated from high school, into Princeton, and a superstar graduate from a poor family can get left in the cold. This isn't merit-based. It's NEPO based. It's who you know based.  

Every Federal job is threatened. Take a buyout that may or may not happen (Trump's record of paying employees and contractors is one of the most abysmal on the planet). Is this to save money? Hell, no. It's to replace those workers with people who are more loyal to the Orange Conman than they are to the United States.

We've revived colonialism, not for the benefit of other countries but to exploit their resources. He wants to take over Greenland and Canada to strip them for parts (pirate capitalism). He wants to take over the Panama Canal to profit from controlling a major shipping lane. He's doing this to benefit himself and his rich pals - NOT YOU.

I was baffled by what it's going to do to the economy when we deport our agricultural and other labor, and stuff is rotting in the fields? Then, it dawned on me what he was going to do. PRISON LABOR. This is why so much of what he wants to be budgeted will go to private prisons. There will be an uptick in convictions for all kinds of things and "detention camps"  for those undocumented who are not immediately deported. And they'll use that labor for pennies in all types of jobs. This is what he meant by saying the undocumented were taking black jobs. People of color have been and will be disproportionally incarcerated and then used this way. Make no mistake. It is a return to SLAVERY.

All public entities are threatened with being consumed by pirating privateers. Public school funding will increasingly be directed to private entrepreneurs primarily concerned with enriching themselves. These entrepreneurs will be free to discriminate to their hearts' content. Public libraries will be closed or turned into Christian Nationalist reading rooms.

You may think you are safe from deportation because you are a US citizen. You think wrong. They are demands to deport Bishop Budde and Selena Gomez, both who are US CITIZENS. You're not safe. None of us are.

This is just the tip of the drool cup we're living in. There's so much more. I want to return to puppies, home fun, my grandchild, sports, movies, fiction, and fun, but how can I?

I cannot sit back and try to explain to my children and grandchildren that I did nothing when fascism came to America.

There will be more. There is always more.

Because we live in the bad place.

T. M. Strat

AOC '28

 

Our Darkest Day

 

This morning, in my alternating melancholy and rage, it is probably best that I don't say too much.  I am ready to burn bridges to the ground.  Not Christ-like, I know.  But there is nothing Christ-like that happened in this election.

There will be a temptation to understand and forgive those who did this, and the analysis will be endless.

I don't care about the analysis.  I don't care about considering forgiveness.  

What has been done is unforgivable.

What has been done will do horrible and irreversible damage.

And there is no way of getting around that.

There will be more later as I try to restore rationality to my temper.

But for now, I write the most terrifying words I have ever written - 

The Trumpocalypse Continues

A Letter From a Re-education Camp

 Dear Maggie,

I can't seem to forget you.

They say that time makes you forget the details. Faces and voices of the past begin to fade. Everything becomes a hazy blur.

But that's not happening. I remember your hazel eyes, the aquiline sweep of your nose, the redness of your full lips, the auburn curls, the tiny earlobes, and even the location of the mole on your cheek.

I have no picture of you; it is just what I have preserved in my mind. But that is enough to see me through this nightmare. I refuse to accept that I will never see you again.

I'm not supposed to be able to write you. But I have managed to have smuggled to me this one piece of paper, and a small pencil nub. On one side is my note to you, and on the other is the menu for the week. Yes, they got it from the kitchen. The pencil nub was from the guard's station, pilfered by the prisoner assigned to janitorial duties.

Do not worry about me. I am doing fine. I don't like being incarcerated, and I miss you tremendously, but I can and will survive.

I am so happy that you were able to escape the Kingdom. I pray that you are safe. I won't say where I think you are for fear that this letter will be confiscated. Just know that I picture you there, secure and happy.

They have not tortured me. I have no information they desire. Let me repeat that. I know nothing that could help them in any way.

I do spend long hours in counseling sessions designed to convert me to their religion and cause, I listen carefully, but I remain the same. It does not help that I am a Christian because I do not hold to what they are calling Christianity.

That said, I will do what I can to secure my release. Whatever it takes.

And rest assured, I will see you again.

Love,

Gregory

This is flash fiction from a series of stories based on the Kingdom, a near future in which America has broken up into several territories/nations. Much of the South has become The Kingdom, where Christian Nationalists have achieved dominance.

The stories may not always follow from one to the other, as they are adjusted to meet a reasonable extrapolation of current events. Think of them like DC's Elseworld stories or Marvel's What If.

Maybe someday I will edit them into a whole.

How much I write of any one thing may depend on the number of views it gets. So far, following that logic, I should refrain from writing about anything.

Time of the Blues _ Hollowed Teen Blues Part 2

 In Part 1, our intrepid band of wayward teens had broken into the Gurney Mansion, intending to vandalize the abandoned and decaying home. As they enter the extensive library, they find a chair in the middle of the room. A chair that is not empty.

They froze, overwhelmed by the apparition seated in the oversized chair.  

It was a figure dressed in white, a white so bright it emanated light. Everything was white - white loafers, white pants, white shirt, even white hair.  

It was not a ghost. It was something much, much worse.

It was a Kingdom Knight, a member of the special Knight's Guard that enforced the holy laws of the Kingdom. 

And it wasn't just any Knight. Oh, no.

The only things that were not white were a black tie and a red badge with a black number in the center. 

"Hello, Hunter," said the Knight, sitting, staring at them smugly. "In the vernacular popular before Kingdom Rise, you all are 'busted."

Hunter Blue stood deflated. He removed his goalie mask, having already been identified. A cold chill filled him. He knew who this Knight was. No question about it. It was his Uncle, Luther Blue. The family member who had climbed the highest in the Kingdom hierarchy. Luther was the Sheriff of Dizon County.

"Look, Luther," pleaded Hunter. "We didn't mean nothing. We was just having some fun..."

Luther cut him off. "Fun.  is that what you call it? Celebrating an unsanctioned holiday in forbidden costumes?" He pointed to Winston, who was holding the egg carton. "Intending to vandalize personal property?"

Suddenly feeling exposed in her Jezebel outfit of transparent scarves, Candy said, "Please. We're sorry. We'll go home and repent. I swears."

Luther picked up a nearby drop cloth and flung it at Candy. "Here. Cover yourself up, harlot."

Luther, standing, his commanding presence dwarfing them, continued. "This is an egregious and insulting slap in the face to the Kingdom, to the church, and to your families. All that we have tried to do to give you decent, safe, and holy lives, you have spit on. It seems like there is only one thing to do with all."

Jessica moaned. "Oh, no. Please don't."

Luther stared at Jessica, a crooked smirk on his face. "Be grateful, witch. If this were the seventeenth century, you would be burned at the stake. If I thought you were a witch, you would receive the harshest punishment. But, no. I know your family, and I know you're just a stupid child who doesn't know any better."  

Luther walked up to Hunter, inches from his face. "No. What should happen is that y'all should be sent to Redemption Camps. For however many years it takes to straighten you out."

"Come on, Luther!" Hunter said. "You don't need to do that!"

That's Sheriff Blue," Luther said.

"Sheriff Blue," Hunter corrected himself.

Luthrt paced, passing by each one, all but Hunter whimpering. "Why should let you unholy delinquents get away with this?"

"Give us a chance, Sheriff," whimpered Winston. "We'll do better. I promise."

"Oh, yes, you will," said Luther. "Maybe I will let this pass. But if I do, you will be mine. I expect you to report to me every week with a detailed report on anyone, and I mean anyone, who is planning anything or is out of line in any way."

Hunter grasped what Luther was implying quicker than the rest. "You mean, you want us to be your narcs?"

Luther sighted. "Another archaic reference. I prefer to think of you as Truth Seekers, helping me shine the light on evil and treason. Do you think you can do that?"

"Do we have a choice?" asked Hunter.

"Of course. I can have you at the Redemption Camps first thing in the morning."

Hunter did not like being put in this position at all. But since this was what it was, he knew the only thing he could say. "Sign up up. Your new Truth Seekers Squad stands before you."

"Fantastic!" Luther smiled. "Welcome to the defense of the Kingdom!"

The teens stood, vanquished, hollowed out, empty vessels fit to be filled with spying for a Kingdom none of them really believed in.

Time of the Blues - Hollowed Teen Blues Part 1

 Halloween had been murdered.

Strangled, neutered, erased.

A holiday left for dead by the Kingdom.

The Episcopalians and Catholics were allowed to hold onto All Saints Day, although now it was officially called Remembrance Day, a day to remember family members or fellow parishioners who had passed into the great beyond.  

The only remnant of Halloween was a Fall Festival Day celebrated in mid-October. It involved some carnival-like activities, like apple bobbing and cornhole tosses, but mostly was an excuse for revival services. There was some costuming, but they had to be biblical figures, and a smattering of approved historical costumes that represented Kingodm favorites, like Confederate heroes like Robert E Lee and Nathan Bedford, founding fathers like George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, a handful of more modern age heroes like Ronald Reagan and Donald Trump.  

There were no ghosts or goblins, witches or demons, risque costumes or serial killers.  

And nothing on what was once Halloween.

Except for some rebellious teens. It was a small group that met on Halloween night in makeshift costumes, with eggs and toilet paper in hand.

This special night, the fifth year since Halloween was banned, they met near the old Gurney mansion, a rambling, ancient Victorian that had been empty since 1966.

"To Halloween!" The Fab Five (as they called themselves) lifted their drinks in the air, a special brew concocted by the Harley twins, moonshine made from corn, malted wheat, and sunflowers. That alone could get the five sent to Reeducation Camp.

Hunter Blue repeated, "To Halloween!" and the group toasted again. Hunter was fifteen, lean and short, with thick, curly black hair and intense blue eyes. His costume consisted of camouflage clothing and a hockey goalie's mask. It was easy enough to find - camo was second nature to a hunting family, and his older brother had once played hockey.

Candy Kapok had her arm around Hunter, her other arm raising her glass 'o' mash. She was dressed in a flimsy harem outfit, covered with filmy scarves. It was a costume that her mother wore several years ago, claiming it was Jezebel and, therefore, biblical. Local Kingdom officials disagreed. Even though her mother never wore it again; she kept it in her closet, where it was easy for Candy to find.

The other female, Jessica Daniels, wore a long black dress and had on a pointed black hat (an old sorting hat from the Harry Potter universe, an item her older brother had failed to throw away).  Albin Harley had painted himself green and had on a neckband with two bolts protruding from it. And Winston Gray, the final member of the Fab Five, had failed to find even the simplest costume, except for a plastic axe.

"What are we going to do, Hunter? Just sit here and get drunk? Or are we going up to the mansion and piss off some ghosts?," asked Winston, craving more action, itching to plunk his plastic axe into something.

Candy pulled at Hunter's camo. "Let's dance, baby!" she urged.

Hunter pulled back from her. Candy was fun, but he'd rather do that when he had her one-on-one. "Naw.  Let's do what we come here for."

"Yeah!" echoed Winston, showing his carton of eggs. "Let's break into that mansion and do some damage!"

"Oh, yeah!" added Albin, shakily lifting a toilet paper roll. "Let's put some teepee in the Gurney-hole!" The others didn't quite get the reference, but it sounded way cool.

They high-fived and then charged to the mansion entrance, slowing and hesitating when inches from it. 

"A-are you sure we should we do this?" Jessica was gripped by nervous fear.

"Hell, yeah!" said Hunter, filled with bravado, doing his best to impress Candy.

He tapped the door slightly, and it slowly opened, squeaking spookily. Hunter was wary that all he had to do was lightly touch it, and it was swinging slowly open, seemingly on its own.

They entered the huge foyer, Hunter leading the way. It was dusty and dirty, but still an elegant marble floor, a spiral staircase leading up to a second floor. Cobwebs were covering the staircase rail.

Winston took out an egg and launched it towards the staircase. They laughed as it splats on the third step. 

"Let's go up the steps!" said Albin. "Let's mess up some bedrooms!"

"Naw," said Hunter. "Let's see what's on this floor first."

Before the staircase, there was an open side entrance leading to another room. Inside were empty library shelves, a large ancient desk, and a plush, oversized chair almost like a throne.

A chair that was not empty.  

Stay blogged for Part 2...coming soon!

Time of the Blues 3: Senior Blues

 The Crowley Baptist Retirement Village had seen some hard times. Covid-19 had hit them especially hard, losing almost 10% of their residents and even a few staff members.

Covid-19 was now a thing of the past, for the most part. At least, that was the thought. The Kingdom no longer identified COVID-19 deaths. Many elderly deaths were just listed as 'natural causes.' If another wave were to hit of this or any other contagious disease, the CBRV (Crowley Baptist Retirement Village) would be in big trouble. The use of masks was outlawed (except for surgeons and a few other professional exceptions), and vaccines were no longer available.

Occasionally, the press of the US and Pacifica would report that the lifespan in the Kingdom had receded dramatically. Still, the Kingdom would deny it and kept no official statistics to show otherwise.

Franny knew, though. At least here at the CBRV. In the last five years, the average age of the census had declined from 78 to 73. A fluke? Maybe. But she didn't think so.

Franny Goodkind sat in her office, looking over her agenda for the day. Lots of patient visits, lots of staff consultations, reviews of medications, contacting patient physicians to advise of any required changes. This was her routine every day. And she loved it. Fifteen years ago, she was a waitress at the Honey Dew. Now, through education and hard work, she is the chief RN in charge of the day shift.

She preferred to spend her time with residents and sometimes had difficulty with the bureaucratic parts of her job. It allowed her, however, to have more influence over the care given to all the residents. Even with coping with all the rules imposed by the Kingdom, she did the best she could to protect them.

Today was a very special resident's birthday. Known mainly as Mama Blue, Daphne Blue would turn 95 today. She was the oldest resident at the facility. Ethel Verleen was next at 93. There was a time when CBRV would have three or more residents over 100, but that hadn't happened in at least ten years.

Daphne was not just the oldest resident; she was also the oldest of the Blue clan, one of the most prominent and prolific families in Dixon County. Withered and confined to a wheelchair, this once tall and proud woman had shrunken about half a foot. She often had a glazed look in her eyes, like she was not there anymore. But when Franny engaged her in conversation, she would light up and spin tales of her younger days. The stories were engaging and sometimes quite spicy. 

The stories were so spicy that nosy Dotty Mathers once overheard and threatened to go to Kingdom officials and notify them. Luckily, Franny was able to distract her by reminiscing with her about her former political career, and soon, Dotty had forgotten all about it. Dotty remembered the past better than the present. If not for her increasing Alzheimer's, Dotty might have been a prominent Kingdom Elder. Such is life.

"Hey, Mama Blue!" Franny said, approaching her with a big smile. "Ready for your big day!"

Daphne returned the smile with a big grin of her own. "I don't know. Once you pass 90, it might be best just to forget the whole thing!"

"Nonsense! Every day seeing you is special! Today is just an excuse to celebrate that!"  Franny leaned down and gave her a hug.

They were in the commons room with many residents and staff and some Blue family members, including two of her grandchildren, Larry and Melinsey. They began to sing Happy Birthday as Susie Kapak brought out a cupcake with a candle. Other cupcakes were wheeled in on carts.

There was a time when huge decorated cakes were used to celebrate,  But that ended fifteen years ago when 105-year-old Rachel Compton expired while in the act of blowing out the candles on her giant cake decorated with Pogo and his swamp friends.

Daphne's cupcake had only two candles, a nine and a five. It was chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. Daphne was an unrepentant chocoholic.

She took a deep breath and blew out both candles at once. She did not die.

Everyone was grateful for that.

If you'd like more of CBRV, please follow the tag Crowley Stories and read A Crowley Celebration of Longevity.

Time of the Blues 2: Book Blues

 Many shelves were just bare.

Melinsey Blue pushed her book cart down the juvenile non-fiction aisle. The bookcase was three shelves high and a display of books on top. The top shelf was half full, the middle a quarter, and there was nothing on the bottom shelf.

She picked a book from her cart. The True History of the Founders by Mike Huckabee. She noted the cover illustration - Jesus with his arms wrapped around George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. Amazing, she thought. Jesus supporting two deists who were also slaveowners. Not what she would expect from WWJD (What Would Jesus Do).

Butt that's the way it was at  Crowley Patriot Library. Everything had to be approved through the Patriot Board. It wasn't a public library anymore. Oh, sure, it was founded by government funds, but that's where it ended. That money was given to a private entity to run and manage the 'public library." 

The Patriot Board has seven members. Three are selected from mega-churches - one from the two largest Baptist congregations and a third from a Pentecostal church. Two others were chosen from other Kingdom-approved churches. The Crowley City Council and the Dixon County Commission nominated the last two. 

When the Kingdom emerged, every book was taken off the shelf. Once the new board was established, they would approve individual books brought back okayed by Kingdom censors.

She grabbed another book to reshelve, The Fight for Kingdom Island by Kirk Cameron, part of the Brave book series that dominated the shelves. 

Melinsey was the last staff member left from the time before, when it was truly a public library. Her brother, Larry, had urged her to quit, but she was determined to stick it out. She had spent a lifetime hiding who she was and how she felt, so subjugating her feelings was nothing new to her.

She wasn't very tall, standing just a half-foot higher than the shelves she stacked. She had long, black hair (Kingdom culture seemed to prefer women to have long hair - she didn't care; it was an easy way to blend in), thin but wiry, thick-framed glasses, dark brown eyes that occasionally lit up with her intellectual curiosity but most often presented an impenetrable blank slate.

She picked another book from her cart, one of the most important, because she had put it there. It was a plain-looking hardback, the spine indicating it was The History of Salt by Roger Peters. But that's not what was inside. Inside, once you turned to page 44, was another book, I Am Rosa Parks, by Brad Meltzer.

She put this book on the second shelf, at the end, in slight defiance of Dewey Decimal (it didn't matter - she was the only one left at the library who had even a dim understanding of that filing system - one of the reasons that she was able to maintain her job).  

It took some work. You had to pick an approved book, but you had to know it was never taken out. But many, many books were never taken out. Most other books were ignored once you got away from some of the big Kingdom-approved book lines, like Mike Huckabee's and Brave.  

The truth is once the Christian Right took over the library, they seldom used it. They had little interest in reading anything of any type. Their primary goal was to ensure others couldn't access books that went against their own views.

A select few knew about the books within the books, and they came in and checked out the books she had rigged. The truth is still out there - if you knew where to look.

You would think one of the many pro-Kingdom employees would notice the books that were checked out and wonder why. But they never reflected that deep a level of curiosity. They were more interested in the food treats brought in (sometimes by Melinsey) and gossiping within themselves or the Christian right mons that would come in than they were in anything about their jobs.

Yes, Melinsey had been very fortunate, and it made her feel good that she could fight the power in her own way.

She looked up towards the desk and saw someone staring at her, a curious look on their face. It's the new hire, someone who had moved from Macon, someone Melinsey didn't know.

Melinsey's intuition was blaring alarms in her head. This may be someone who is not easily fooled. And there was no way of knowing - was she a Kingdom true believer? Was she a rebel like Melinsey?

There was no direct way to know. No clever way to interrogate and find the truth of where the new hire stood. If the new hire was like Melinsey, then whatever the true stance, that would be covered with allegiance to the Kingdom, real or not.

The new hire moved out from the desk, strolling towards the children's section, sliding ever closer to where Melinsey stood.

Is this the end? Is this where Melinsey would be caught, dismissed, and all the good she tried to do erased? Or would she find another ally?

Stay tuned to this blog!

Time of the Blues 1: Rocking at the Country Boy

The Blue was singing the Blues.

Larry didn't mean to complain. It just started pouring out.

"I miss pineapple, Walter." He eased back into his rocking chair. "I really do."

"Hell, Walter," mused his friend, Walter. "You couldn't afford it even if we had it. The last pineapple I saw was $21 at the Pig."

"That was more than a year ago!" Larry shifted his massive bulk in the rocker. It was his habit to sit out on the porch of County Boy's Gassed 'n' Goed for an hour or so early in the morning before the heat got oppressive. Often, he would be joined by his skinny, one-eyed partner in inertia, Walter Strickland. Sometimes, Walter had his glass eye. On other days, he didn't want to mess with it and wore an eyepatch. Today was an eyepatch day.

Larry Blue would spend much of his time singing the Blues. Woe is me; look how much I have been put upon, weren't times better in yesteryear? Of course, Larry was careful enough not to define what yesteryear was. But they knew what he meant.  

"What do you miss, Walter? Surely, you must miss somethin'. What do you miss most of all?"

Walter's eye misted. "I miss Julie."

Oh, now Larry had stepped into it. He should've known better. Julie is Larry's daughter, who now must be close to 30, Larry thought. But Walter hadn't seen her in years. Julie left just before the borders were closed. She left a note to Walter and her mother, Janeen, indicating that she was going to the Great Lakes Union. Occasionally, they would get a smuggled letter from her, but the last one was over a year ago. Walter knew she married. He knew he was a grandfather, a granddaughter he might never see.

"Sorry, Walter. Of course, you miss your daughter. And here I am going on about some ridiculous fruit. Sometimes I can be an insensitive jerkwater."  At least Larry didn't have to go through that. All the Blues were within a hundred miles of each other, more or less.

Mildred started to come up the steps. "You boys got nothing better to do than to sit here and whine all day?" She was short and stocky but with solid muscle, unlike Larry's bubbling blubber. Her hair was close-cropped. She used to have a mohawk, colored powder blue. She used to have piercings in her nose, lips, and tongue, but they had long since closed up. The only piercings left were her ears (at least piercings visible to the general public). She had tattoos, of which only the ones on her arms were visible. You could keep your tattoos as long as they hadn't been deemed sacrilegious.  

Walter spit out part of his chaw. "I'm doing 'zactly what I want to do. How about you, Mildred?"

"I'm hitting on all cylinders, boys. Just gotta get some feed so I can tend to my animals. Responsibilities, ya know?"

"You're looking good, Mildred," Larry complimented. "Nice to see you out and about."

Mildred guffawed at Larry's ingratiations. "You look mighty tight in that rocker, Larry. Maybe Herschel should install you a double wide."  Herschel was the owner of the Country Boy.

Sometimes it don't pay to be nice, Larry thought. Kindness was a basic human value; that's what Jesus taught. Even if it didn't seem to be held up as such anymore.

"Well, I can't just jaw with you two knuckleheads all day. I got mouths to feed."  She bounded past them and went into the store.

Even if he wouldn't say it out loud, Larry had to admit that he was a little sweet on Mildred. Even dressed in her everyday apparel of cowboy boots, work jeans, and muscle shirt, she held appeal to him. Yeah, there were rumors about Mildred, but Larry chose to ignore them.

None of that was talked about anymore because the consequences would be dire if it could be proved.

Dire, indeed.

Mortimus Pedals Furiously

 Let me introduce you to Mortimus MacKenzie. He is named after a World of Warcraft character, a game popular with both his parents, who had met and fallen in love while playing it. But, of course, this was before the Kingdom fall. Since then, they have received some pressure from the Church to change it to something more biblically sound, but so far, they have been able to resist.

The darkness fell, and Mortimus was out too late. He pedals furiously to make it home before he is stopped by the Kingdom Guard. He might not be in too much trouble, being only eight years old, but it might harm his parents.

It was innocent enough. He had been at his friend's, Mark (solid biblical name there) Griner, and they were just so busy playing Kingdom's Gate that they had lost track of time. 

Mortimus was getting close. Only three blocks to go. But the next block was the Holiness Church. And even though it was past curfew, there seemed to be a crowd. People attending church events could be exempt from the curfew. They just had to have an event pass bracelet on their wrist. Could you forge an event pass to cover up being out too late? Yes, but the penalties for forging were quite severe. Commit the offense three times, and you could lose a hand.

As he got closer, he saw there was a huge bonfire. They threw books into the flames and sang Give Me Oil In My Lamp. The people looked entranced, their eyes wide in ecstatic fever.

The biggest surprise to Mortimus was that, after six years of Kingdom rule, they were still finding books to burn. That seemed like a long time to find new troves of books. Hadn't they found them all yet?

Someone looked over at him. He'd been spotted! But he pedaled quickly away and was out of sight before they could react further.

Mortimus realized that they could be finding books hitherto undiscovered. After all, didn't his parents have a shelf of books hidden away in the basement, behind a false wall? He only knew it was there because he hid on the basement stairs as his parents opened it up one day.  

They had given him a book or two to read. He would have it for a few days, and then his parents would take it back. One was The Giving Tree. Others included I Am Jazz, The Prince & Knight, and Charlotte's Web. They seemed okay to him. He couldn't understand why people wanted to burn them. When his reading skills improved, his parents told him they would let him read A Wrinkle in Time and The Diary of Anne Frank.

He liked reading books, but it made him afraid of what would happen if they found the books? What would they do to his parents? What would happen to him?

Mortimus has a terrible thought. What if the burning at the Holiness Church were his parent's books?

He pedaled furiously, furiouser and furiouser, faster and faster.

He got home and raced in, the front door unlocked. He called loudly for them. They didn't answer. Weren't they home.

He went through the kitchen, shouting, worried.

And then he noticed.

The door leading to the basement was open.

Fear enveloped him.

Mortimus wept.

Guns in the Kingdom

 I think the impression was that when the Kingdom was established and took full control, everyone everywhere would have all the guns and advanced weaponry they wanted.

Surprise!

All guns and ammo were sold by one source - Kingdom Defense (originally Daniel Defense). They had many locations throughout the South - pretty much any town with more than 1,000 people had a store. You could arrange a gun purchase online, but you had to go to the store and clear a current background check.

Background checks? Some of you familiar with the early 21s century USA may be stunned to hear that the most conservative breakaway federation installed background checks.

You had to have your Church Card, the same card that allowed you to vote and participate in many of society's activities. The saying goes, "Guns are not for atheists, communists, socialists, and the sexually deviant."

Committing any offense against the Kingdom, no matter how minor, would deny you the right to a gun. Even publicly challenging any law or edict of the Kingdom would be enough. Speaking out against any authority figure could deem you a radical.

Once the Christian Dominionists took control, they completely flipped on private citizens holding weaponry to stand against tyranny. Once in power, they were determined to stay in power.

I tried to get a gun last month. Things are getting nasty here, and I wanted to have it as a self-defense option. My application was rejected. Even with a clean Church Card, I couldn't pass the background check - my politics from before The Kingdom came were quite clear, and I had slipped up enough times to keep controversy about me alive.

I would try to get a gun through the black market, but it did not seem worth the risk of getting caught.

Crime, of a sort, had declined. Robberies and burglaries were way down. Profiling and arresting/killing innocents were way up. Despite the gun restrictions for some, many loyal Kingdomers had plenty of weaponry, and gun violence continued. Statistics were not kept (or not made public), but gun suicides and domestic violence were not unknown. Everybody knew somebody who had been involved in those kinds of incidences.

The news was filled with incidents of failed domestic terrorism. Yes, there were bad guys we had to be on guard against, but the Kingdom Knights always stopped them.

At least, that's what we were told.

This story is part of The Kingdom series, imaginary stories set in a near-future America that has been divided into several different countries.

Tracy Holland for the National Assembly

 It's Primary Day in the Kingdom!

All the excitement and fun of watching grass grow.

Most local races are non-partisan. You don't have to declare a party to run - you just have to have an up-to-date Church Card that states what church you attend. And that church is required by law to inform the Election Board what your Sunday attendance percentage is. If it's below 60%, then your candidacy is voided, and you are not allowed to run. The Election Board will keep whatever fees you were charged. It's not their fault you couldn't follow the rules.

There are only two parties on the ballot for partisan races. You have to vote in one or the other; you can't split your ticket in primary voting. That frustrates some people because they think the primary should be it - one and done. But the Kingdom wants to suggest at least the facade of democratic choice, at least at this point.

One of the two parties is the Republican Party. But, like the persistence of the Dixiecrats decades ago, it is mostly a choice made out of habit by some elderly people. Once a Republican, always a Republican. Still, they only get about 10 to 15% of the vote in Pierce County.  

The main party, really the only viable party, is the Christain Kingdom Party, the CKP. It receives 85 to 90% of the vote. So if you win their primary, you've got a lock on winning your office. In the National Assembly, a body of  333, typically there are two or three dozen Republicans, mainly from Florida (old people - what are you gonna do?).

This is our third National Election. Even within the CKP, the number of contested primary races is getting fewer and fewer. Most people don't even want to argue anymore. What's the point?

We don't vote for President anymore. Instead, candidates are vetted through the National Council of Churches (NCC). Theoretically, they can qualify multiple candidates, but so far, they have only recommended one, and then that candidate is affirmed by the National Assembly. The most the public participates is on National Blessing Day, showing up for special services to offer their prayers and support for the new Father.

The one issue that seems to be motivating people this year is whether or not women should be included in the National Assembly. They are already excluded from the Presidency (not officially, but everyone understands that the NCC will not qualify a female candidate).  There is a woman in the Vice Presidency, but her term ends soon, and the position may be eliminated, at least according to contemplated constitutional revisions.

Hardliners want to exclude women from elected political positions, citing biblical text encouraging the subjugation of women. Please understand. This is not my interpretation of the Bible - this is theirs. Every day that I wake up, I find it hard to believe what I live in. I tell Alison we should have gotten out when we could have. I'm just grateful that my three boys aren't in the Kingdom - Doug in what's left of the USA, and Greg and Benjamin in Pacifica.

Another issue that may be debated by the National Assembly is whether certain denominations should be certified in the Kingdom. These include Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses, and my own denomination, Episcopalians. This concerns me quite a bit. Without that certification, my life would be even more restricted than it is, including no longer having the right to vote.

So, that is why I'm voting for Tracy Holland for our National Assemblyperson (boy, I can't use that phrase out loud). She is slightly moderate, at least by CKP standards. She is in favor of women in the General Assembly and, as a Methodist, may be inclined not to reduce the number of sanctified denominations. At least, that's what I would hope.

I've got my church card, which has my photo ID and verification of church participation. That's all you need to vote. Forging a card to vote could result in a ten-year prison sentence. I'm not sure who's desperate enough to vote for the choices we have to think it is worth that kind of risk, so there is very little voter fraud. Just as there was little voter fraud BEFORE the Kingdom came.

When I hand the poll worker my card, she says, "You might want to consider changing churches if you want to keep voting."

Oh, yes. Things just keep getting better and better.

The Kingdom Always Strikes Back

 We thought we were on our way out of it.  That, with the election of Biden, we would return to a restoration of democracy and decency.

We thought wrong.

Except for William Jenning Bryan (who ran for President three times and lost by a bigger margin each time), they generally fade from history when our politicians lose the Presidential race.  Nixon came back after eight years and won a deeply divided election in '68.  But most are permanently sidelined.

So, Trump's persistence as a central political figure was a bit of a surprise. His only accomplishment as President was tax code revisions that primarily benefitted the rich and increased the income gap.  America's response to COVID under his watch was, by far, the worst reaction in the world.  He spent four years dividing us and demonizing so many people. He sided with and emboldened dictators while dissing democracies and NATO. With a strong hat's tip to Mitch McConnell, he packed our courts with far-right radicals, who will not only gut women's reproductive rights but also stymie civil rights and worker's rights and side overwhelmingly with the powerful. I could go on and on, but it's senseless.  It doesn't change anyone's mind, and the horrors have gone so far beyond Trump.

Trump was just the face of a movement, and as his baggage became too much for all but his most ardent supporters, it was inevitable that someone else would rise to represent those people.

And that is where we are at now, dear sister.  I pray that you get this smuggled letter.  I know that the Great Lakes Union has its problems too,  but it is not like us here in The Kingdom. Openly speaking against President DeSantis and Vice President Haley is considered an act of sedition and could result in being sent to a re-education camp.

I know.  We should have moved when we could have.  We could have accepted your offer to move in with you in your Grand Rapids home and apply for asylum in the Great Lakes Union.  Or we could have moved to the Catskills with Doug, Paige, and my granddaughter, living in the remnant that still is the United States of America. Or to Pacifica, either with Greg in Los Angeles or Benjamin in Seattle.

No.  We hesitated too long.  We thought this was a fluke and that things would soon return to normal. Alison had her job here.  We had family and church. And Alison was not going to leave her mother here, knowing her health would prohibit her from being moved.

Then when the walls went up and the Kingdom Guard numbered in the hundreds of thousands, we knew we were doomed.  We stripped our house of anything that showed support for any Democrats or liberal causes.  We kept completely silent about any issue.  It was hard to talk to anybody about anything besides the weather, sports, and the most inane TV shows.

We thought our church would be a safe haven, but when the Diocese was seized by the Government, we could continue to exist, but only with the leadership of the most conservative elements of our church.  We lost our long-time Reverand, only to have her replaced by a Christian Right male priest who immediately reversed all our progress with the LGBTQ+ community.

We feel so lonely and cut off.  When our former country finished its Great Sort, we were left on the wrong side of the divide.

I love you, Carol.  I miss all of you.

Maybe, someday, I have faith that we will see this through.  Maybe Anne Frank was right.  Maybe, in spite of everything, people are really good at heart.

It's one thing to read it.

It's another thing to live it.

God bless you.  I pray we will see you and my children and grandchild again.

Love,

Tom & Alison

The Imperfect Job: A Kingdom Story

The perfect job did not exist.

All you could hope for was that the level of imperfection was something you could tolerate.

The coffee was prepared by someone else before she got there.  How was it possible that it tasted like convenience store coffee that had been sitting in the pot for several hours, bitter and stale and barely drinkable?  Maybe Reynolds came in at 3 in the morning and fixed it, and by 8 AM, it had acquired its full crusty glory.

She tried to mask its flavor by putting in two packets of dry creamer and an unhealthy swath of processed sugar.  Yes, she realized that so much sugar was not good for her, but it was either that or Sweet 'n' Low, which was the rough equivalent of adding battery acid to and already bitter cup of coffee.  She kept meaning to bring in Stevia and liquid creamer, but that was a difficult thing to grasp with her slow-moving morning mind.  She saved what limited organizational ability she had for the job.  There was nothing left over for anything else.  She felt privileged just to be able to remember the way home at the end of the day.

There was a small refrigerator, but it did not make ice.  That was a major work shortcoming. Ice is civilization, to quote the author Paul Theroux.  It was just another of those imperfections she would have to tolerate.

"Good morning, Dabs!" cheerfully greeted her workmate Sarah.  They shared a cubicle in the central office.  Sarah was tolerable, but way too bright and chipper in the morning.   Most of the time, she liked to talk about her pets or kids or husband, but sometimes Sarah would stray into politics.  Dabs had long ago learned an important lesson of office life - it was A-Otay to talk about religion and politics at the workplace, as long as it was THEIR religion and politics.  If you dissent, why then you are violating the decorum of not discussing politics or religion.  Agreement within thee Christian Reich framework was all that was allowed.  Thy Kingdom come, everyone else shut up or suffer the consequences.

Dabs smiled fleetingly at Sarah and then took her seat, firing up the computer monitor in front of her.  Sarah had adornments all around her part of the cubicle, bible quotes, and pictures of her pets and family.  Dabs only had a photo of her son, his high school graduation picture.  She loved her son immensely and reminded herself that it was for him and her daughter, who was just starting high school (Bennett Christian Academy, which was the best she could pick from now that public schools were no more).  Her son had been drafted and was currently fighting in the Mexican Wars, and she worried about him every day.  She used to pray, but she was no longer sure who to even pray to.

They did not know that she didn't pray.  There were plenty of public prayers, and she dutifully participated in all of them.  Best not to stand out in that regard.  Her husband found that out the hard way.  As of today, he had been in the Christian Reeducation camp near Tifton for two full years, with her having no idea when or if he would ever be back.

The firm started each day with a group prayer, usually led by Reynolds, one of the two partners who ran the place and siphoned off virtually all the income.  But without any workplace regulation, without any wage standards, it was easy for the partners to do.  She could not complain.  She was paid what she was paid.  And she would be fired if she told anyone what that was.   

The pay was, of course, substantially inadequate for the needs of her family.  Her husband earned nothing while in the camps.  She had to sell her home with negative equity and move with her daughter into a one-bedroom apartment.  Her son sent her part of his military pay, and her daughter was working while trying to attend school - she was doing her best, but her grades were suffering.  Dabs wasn't sure of the consequences of those lower grades - there were few opportunities for women in the Kingdom, mostly low rung office and retail jobs.  The only really lucrative positions were to be the wife of a televangelist and/or politician.

Reynolds was there now, ready to start the daily prayer.  Before he began, he admonished everyone to work harder, and that, if not, they were considering on farming a lot of the work out to India, who had accountants and bookkeepers willing to work for less and be more productive at it.  Dabs thought it peculiar that people who had come to power in part by ginning up fear about immigrants taking your job and your country, were so willing to throw real working people in their own country under the bus.

No, the job wasn't perfect.  Not by a long shot. But it was better than concentration camps or serving in pointless wars, or living in the streets.

Still. It would be nice to at least have some ice.

Rains Upon the Kingdom: Friday Flash Fiction

The rains will not stop.

All across the Kingdom, the floodwaters rise.

Some people have some small boats.  The few with yachts have already left.  There is no Noah.

KIng Franklin was just on the air. Well, most could no longer access their TVs, but they heard him on the radios or saw via their phones.  The internet that remained was limited and highly restricted in content, but it sure was available for government propaganda.

Fellow brothers and sisters in Christ, loyal citizens of The Kingdom, the rains that deluge our promised land will soon dissipate.  This is what our weather diviners tell us, and the power of our prayer will make it so.

Until then, the love of God protect us all.  Seek the highest ground you can.  Listen to the radio or your phone for bulletins, and the nearest location of assistance from the Kingdom's Guards.  They are setting up shelters across the breadth of the Kingdom.  No matter how dire it seems, you are not far from those who love you and strive to keep you safe.

As for the foul rumors you may hear emanating from insurrectionists and heathens, or those from lands outside the Kingdom, the rains are not caused by global warming.  Is that not a ridiculous notion?  If the world was warming, would that not cause the rains to evaporate?  We have proved over and over that any extreme weather we experience is simply a natural phenomenon, a reflection of the will of God.

The best solution is to pray.  The quickest route to the ceasing of the rain is to get right with God.  Too many of us have been slack.  Too many of us have backslid to old and dangerous ways of thinking.  Too many have been questioning of the wisdom and principles of the Kingdom.

This must stop.  If you know of those whose spirit is damaging the Kingdom, please let your pastor know, or someone from the Kingdom Guard.

May God bless you with the riches of the Kingdom.  May God see you through this storm.

Many prayed.  Some drowned.  A multitude lost their homes and possessions.

The rains continued.  They would continue for forty days and forty nights.

And then we will see what is left.

Kingdom Escape: Friday Flash Fiction

Take me with you.

I can't.  I wish that I could.

Do you understand what is happening here?  Things aren't safe anymore.

I understand.  But I'm going to be lucky to make it on my own.  It would be almost impossible if I bring others.

It will be okay.  I can help you look out.

A man and woman together?  You know they're watching out for that!

I love you.  Please don't leave me here.

I love you, too.  And I'm trying to keep you safe.  Don't you know how dangerous it's going to be?  I can't risk your life like that.

Everything is a risk.  And I would rather be with you, risking everything, than be back here without you.

No, I can't so that.  I won't take that chance.

And I won't take the chance that I have to live here without you.

Look, you know our best hope is for me to get out of the Kingdom and tell the story of what's happening here.  If they know, they'll have to come in.  They'll have to stop this nightmare.

I think you're wrong.  I think they already know, and just don't care.

I can't believe that.  There are good people in the world.  They'll hear about this, and they won't let stand.

There are good people here, and they just watched it happen and did nothing.  Why do you think the DSSA will be any different?

I don't know.  I have to have faith that decency and humanity will prevail.

You have that faith in others, but you don't have it in me?

If you go with me and something happens to you, I couldn't live with myself.

And I can't live if I don't go with you.  Please, let's do this thing together.

Stop!  Why did you kiss me?  You know what that does to me?

We must be together.  Everything means nothing without you.

My God!  Heaven help me!  I cannot leave you!  Alright!  Come with me!  It's insane, but I can't live without you either!

(FLASHING LIGHTS.  SIRENS)


HALT!  THE KINGDOM KNIGHTS HAVE YOU SURROUNDED!  PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND COME OUT SLOWLY!

I am sorry, my love.  It is at an end.

Never, my love.  They will never tear our souls apart.

(GUNFIRE)

They Come

They're coming.  And I can't stop them.

The security system doesn't matter.  They won't do anything to stop what's coming.  Even they are afraid of what's headed my way.

Having a gun won't help me.  What they possess can damage me far more than my rifle.

No persuasion will stop them.  No faith, no lawyer, no politician.  They can not be reasoned with.

If only we would have recognized what they were earlier, maybe we would have stood a chance.

Not now.

Now it is too late.

They're coming for me, and they can't be stopped.

An hour ago, I got the message from my friend, Warren.  He was the last one of my group that they had already come for.  He said they had decided to come for me next, and I had less than an hour to escape.

I made my wife and children leave, sending them to go to Aunt Suzi's.  I did not want them here when they came for me.  They were crying and clung to me.  My wife knew she would never see me again.  Eventually, bitterly, tearfully, she accepted reality and left with the children.

I wish I could get away, but I know better.  Once they target you, it's over.  There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.  Even if you manage to escape at first, they will come for those you love, and they will be at risk until they can have you.

They thirst for you.  They want to devour you.  They want to silence you forever.

I stand on the front porch.  Waiting.

Then I hear the sounds.  They're coming.  My heart is pounding.  Maybe I'll save everyone the trouble and have a heart attack before they come.

Then they are here.  An evil swarm, so thick I can barely see anything else.

Their pack leader stepped forward.  "Thomas M. Strait?"

Why pretend?  They already knew.  It was a rhetorical snarl, nothing more.  "Yes," I replied.

"Did you post yesterday an inciteful statement scandalously attacking our beloved Father?"  They moved closer, the odor like a sulfuric furnace.

"I said that I didn't believe special education should be abandoned, yes.  That's all I stated."

The pack leader's eyes were yellow and angry.  "You made it seem like the Father was the problem.  That he didn't care about the poor retarded children, and how humane it would be to phase them out of the stresses of associating with the healthy and vibrant.  You actually advocated that we should take away resources from our hard-working citizens, and give it in a foolish attempt to educate the uneducable."

"He's wrong.  The Father is wrong.  What he suggests is inhumane and cruel and immoral."

They gasped collectively.  One raised his weapon, ready to end my misery.

"Stop!"  he barked.  "Don't shoot this scum, this enemy of the people!!  Let our system decide.  We are a nation of laws, are we not?"

He came up to me, inches away from my face.  Yes, he was human.  That just makes it all that more frightening, that one human being could do this to another.  But maybe it's not so strange.  Hasn't that been the history, the shame, the intolerant horror of mankind?

"You have three days to publicly confess.  If you don't, you will face the Ultimate Punishment."  Death by hanging.  Yes, I know.  I also know that, whether I confess or not, they would end my life.  Shot and dumped.  I don't see why they think everyone doesn't already know this.

They put shackles on me and put me in their prison van.

Don't get all confident that you can avoid my errors and survive.

They came for me.

They're coming for you next.

Checkpoint: Flash Fiction Friday

Always with the checkpoints.

If you wanted to make it to work and be on time, you had to leave a half hour earlier than you used to.  And now even that was getting iffy.  My employers were understanding, but they also docked the pay for being late.

Today was no exception.  I had tried alternate routes, but they were not foolproof.  One time I tried it and wound up behind a very slow-moving checkpoint, manned only by one agent, who moved with the speed and self-assurance of Barney Fife.

But today, just past the intersection of Cedar and Church, I found myself in a line of vehicles so long I could barely see the checkpoint.  Just some flashing lights maybe two blocks up.  I disconnected the podcast I was listening to.

I quickly made sure I had everything I needed.  Car registration and proof of insurance?  Check.  Birth certificate copy?  Check.  Proof of citizenship?  Check.  Voter registration?  Yes.  Party identification card?  Oh, crap!  That was going to be needed.  Where was that?  I squirreled to the very bottom of the glove compartment, and there it was, underneath the Honey Dew Cafe menu.

It was taking forever.  I felt the docked dollars piling up.  My heart beat faster.  When I was still four cars away, I saw a man out of their car, frisked, and then led away, another agent taking the car, presumably to impound.

My mind swirled.  My mind swam in a dark pool of fear and apprehension.  Nothing new.  Since the change, I've swum there many times before. Every time I'd see someone taken away, the fear would burst forth anew.

After another twenty minutes, I had finally reached the checkpoint.  The fear was real.  I tasted it, its rich feel overwhelming my senses.

The agent asked for my documents, in the exact order I anticipated. He inspected each and handed them back to me.  Maybe it was going to be all right.

But I wasn't released.  He asked for something new, something I had not foreseen.  He wanted my cellphone.

I handed him the phone, not sure what he was looking for.  I was careful to only use the texting for work-related activities or to inform my wife when I was headed home.

But that was not what he was looking for.  "Sir, I see you listened to a podcast recently."

I was confused.  "Yes.  I set it at home.  I didn't touch my phone while driving."  At first, the new cellphone use restrictions had gotten a lot of people, but many adjusted, particularly as the consequences grew more grave.

"Sir, it's the podcast itself.  It's an unauthorized podcast from an NPR station in Massachusetts."

This blindsided me.  "It's...a cooking show.  THere's no harm in that, is there?"

"Anything from NPR is forbidden."

"I - I didn't know.  How long has that been true?"

"The advisory council ruled on it last week."

It was hopeless.  I couldn't keep up with these changes.  Why had we not moved to Ontario when we had the chance?  Now he would haul me out of the car, and I would be at a reorientation center for who knows how long.

Instead of asking me to step out, the agent kept my phone.  "Since it is a relatively new change, I'm just going to confiscate this phone.  You'll need to go to a qualified dealer and get a new phone.  It will be up-to-date with enhanced access limitations so you won't have to worry about the new restrictions."

Just great.  Now, I needed to go to the expense of getting a new phone.  Where was that going to come from?  We were already operating at the edge of our budget.

I should have been angered at the new restrictions.  I used to care about such things.

Now, I've swum in the enveloping dark far too long.  I could no longer remember the taste of freedom.  Those days were gone.

Now I just needed to survive.

Flash Fiction Friday: Thy Kingdom Comes

They said it couldn't happen here.

But it did.

And now I need to get out.  Not just me, but my entire family.  This would not be an easy feat, but it had to be done.  They were cracking down even harder now, and it would only be a matter of a short time when they would take us all.

It hadn't been easy to survive this long. I had been know for my editorials and writings, critical of the administrations that had led to this.  Others who had not had been as publicly assertive as I could blend back in.  Not me.  I, along with several other well-known progressives, had to publicly recant, or face prison, even execution.

You may think of me as a coward for backing down.  That's all right.  I think that, too.  We always think of how courageous we'll be, only to melt when it's yourself or your family on the line.

So I behaved.  It hurt.  My head ached, my blood pressure rose, my stomach was now the proud possessor of an ulcer.  Yet, I swallowed it all so my family could go on.

Benjamin managed to graduate from public schools just before they were destroyed and replaced with "Christian Academies."  Unfortunately, only so-called Christian Universities were left for him to go to, and despite our urgings, he could not stay silent.

I feared for him, and the arrests were increasing again.  They created something called "Redemption Camps," where you were brainwashed into conformity, or you were never seen again.  When the underground warned us that they were putting Benjamin on the camp list, I knew I had to risk everything to get us out of there.

And that is why we were in Covington, waiting for the border agent to evaluate our paperwork. "Could you tell me again, Mr. Easlick, why you want to visit the Great Lakes Union?"  Well, I'm not sure that I did.  Ideally, it was going to be way station onto a journey to Pacifica.  The Great Lakes Union had their own problems and were only marginally better than the Kingdom. But I wasn't going to tell him that.

"My brother is very sick, and I want to see him before he passes," I replied, teary-eyed.  Mike Easlick wasn't really sick - a sympathetic doctor had forged a letter to us.  And my last name wasn't Easlick. The underground provided us with fake documents.  This might not have been the best plan, but it was the best we could come up within the short time we had.

"And you will only be there three days?  Is that correct?"

"Yes.  Just three days, and then we'll be back."

The border guard stared blankly.  I don't know whether he believed us or not.  "Do you pledge your complete and utter loyalty to the Kingdom?"

Benjamin and I both nodded vigorously and answered, "Yes!" My wife, Alison,  didn't respond. Women weren't supposed to respond anymore.

"Do you pledge your devotion and loyalty to President Pence, Vise President Graham, and the entire government, under God, for which they stand?"  I can't believe that Billy would be pleased with what Franklin had done, but that is where the lit fuse went.

We both stood straight up and shouted together, "We do!"

The border guard leaped up, and shot his right arm straight out, bending his hand up into the air. "Thy Kingdom come!"

We returned the salute.  "Thy will be done!"

At that moment, another official broke in.  By his uniform, I could tell he wasn't a border guard, but a high-level officer in the Kingdom Guard.  "Well, if it isn't T. M. Strait and his seditionist family!"

"N-no," I pleaded desperately.  "I'm Robert Easlick, just looking to visit my dying brother."

The officer laughed, booming laughter that thundered across the room.  "How backward do you think we are?  You don't think we have facial recognition software?  And we couldn't follow your ridiculous trail or your terrible disguises?"

I fell silent, my heart beating wildly, and my ulcer perforating.

"Take them all to the Berea Redemption Camp.  They should enjoy that," he said, then after a brief dramatic pause, "for a while."

We were too late.  We warned, but not enough.  We fought, but we gave in too soon.

Maybe it was just baked into the divisions this country has always had, and nothing could heal it or bring us together.

Thy Kingdom comes.

And I don't know if we could have stopped it.