The Mole

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: December 04, 2016

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Submitted: December 04, 2016



The Mole

Journalists had long since fled the country.  Was there news? Yes, if you could call it that.  More like static, flooding the airways every day by people pretending to be journalists wrapping their beliefs and agendas in the coatings of supposed news stories.

The real journalists, the ones who followed a code, who reported only the facts had been buried under libel lawsuits, imprisoned and buried under a hundred other unsubstantiated attacks.  So those that weren’t biding their time away in prison cells had left for more lucrative, less stressful, better paying jobs where they could get paid to be invisible and stay on the right side of being broke and losing it all.

I still perused the daily “news” feed where a hundred or more entries pushing a hundred or more agendas resided.  I was not even sure what I was looking for really. A story with facts, with truth, something that wasn’t telling me what I should believe.  I never found it, yet I kept searching, day after day, in vain.

Until that day when I saw two words at the bottom of my newsfeed.  Two words that haunt me to this day.  “I’m here.”  Opening it I was greeted with a story and pictures that were horrific yet I knew them to be true somehow.  Maybe it was the grainy quality of the pictures, maybe it was the less than perfect editing, there was no marketing here.  Here were facts, cold hard ugly facts.  Pictures of a city with a perfect economy, we had been told by the mainstream, were now pictured in the rubble of reality.  The facts of the backroom deals that had conspired to create this reality emerged. Yet The Mole, as he called himself, laid out the facts alone, allowing the reader to draw their own startling conclusions

As the weeks passed, The Mole’s readership grew. Yet it did not seem to concern him in the least. The Mole only cared about the truth, skittering from story to story, wherever the reality of true news seemed to appear. No agenda, no opinion, just the facts, over and over again.

The readership took notice and soon so didn’t the administration. The questioning at briefings had long since ended, replaced instead with a weekly pronouncement. The first time he was mentioned surprisingly wasn’t there. It was in a mention on a domestic security watch list. Listed as crimes against the government, which in this case meant telling the truth.  As the mole skittered and the government grew restless, his readership watched, fascinated with the dance these two played.

Then something happened. We too became restless.  We rooted for the Mole and against the government we knew too had its own agenda.  The Mole’s words began to give strength to others. Who in returned passed that strength on. The protests started small and then they grew, all the while the Us against them mentality growing.

The day of his disappearance we were all worried.  Several days more went by and still silence.  A week and a half later it appeared out of nowhere.  The words “I’m Here”  They jumped out at me and I caught them immediately opening the newsfeed the picture was atrocious. There was the Mole with swollen eyes and a battered face gleefully holding a notebook and pen. He had lost and yet he had won. We all had.

One brave Mole had awoken us all to reality of our complacency and challenged us to take our freedom back.  And so it began.

© Copyright 2018 Carla Charter. All rights reserved.

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