REVOLUTION

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

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With all the stuff that was going on in the world when I wrote this (July 2015) I used writing to let off some angst, wrath, fear, confusion, etc. This is not a full story, and is barely a snipit of one. But I will be using it as a foundation for something in the future, albeit I have not worked out how or when.

I sat in my dim room listening to the debate coming from downstairs, my window open allowing a foreshadowing cool breeze to pass by my curtains, making them do a frolicking dance. The cotton fabric waved back and forth, forcing shadows to gyrate across my teal blue walls. I sat and listened, somewhat comforted by the chill that came from outside. I could hear how my house-mates felt about the current situation and it disturbed me how little they truly knew.
It frustrates me how dumb they are.
“Are you serious Chaz?” I heard Tonnelle, her voice higher pitched than normal. “He was a criminal and the officer dealt with it?”
“The cop did his job,” Chaz spat back, his voice cracking with anxiety, and a hint of fear. “The guy was charging the cop, so the cop responded. The guy should have known better.”
I could tell by Tonnelle’s exasperated howl that she wanted to slice Chaz into little bitty pieces. “You are so thick. I don’t know why I thought you’d understand.”
“What? I can’t understand because I’m white and it was a black guy that got shot?” Chaz questioned.
“That’s right Chaz! That’s exactly it.” There was no sarcasm in Tonelle’s voice. She was all business. She was serious, which meant she was dangerously logical on the cusp of emotional explosive.
“You been too privileged man,” Thaiv butted in.
“Come on Thaiv, not you too?!” Chaz sounded defeated.
“Dude,” Thaiv continued, “you never been followed through a store just because you were a different color from the standard patrons.”
“That’s because he’s white,” Tonnelle snorted.
“Beyond that,” Thaiv waved Tonnelle down, “you are part of the majority class Chaz, even if you were raised in the hood and know some things about street smarts.” Thaiv had not wanted Chaz to interrupt with his usual retort: but I’m poor too and never been nowhere ‘cept the hood.
“You belong to the privileged group,” Thaiv continued. “Even if at the lower or lesser end, you’re part of that classification. You still above so many just by having a lineage with European ancestry. It’s how the country works. It sucks, but its truth.”
“But why is this about black and white and whatever?” Chaz blurted. “The guy was a criminal, and he was attacking an officer, then got shot for it. Why is that not the focus? Why is everyone flippin’ out?”
Before Tonnelle or Thaiv could respond Iliana jumped into the ridiculous and lacking argument, “because he was shot several times. In the face. Point blank. It’s a bit excessive for subduing a kid tweeking out on mushrooms and weed.”
“But, you don’t think that was excessive, do you Chaz?” Tonnelle asked.
If Chaz was a smart person, which he is not, he would have said something other than what he had, “No!”
I did not have to be downstairs to know that Thaiv would have had to run goalie for Chaz and his face, keeping Tonnelle from slashing out with her manicured claws. I decided that the visuals to this debate would maybe add some humorous buoyancy to the stupidity that my house-mates shared.
I left my room and crept down the carpeted stairs, peering over the banister into the family room. Most people call it a living room, but I don’t know of anyone that actually live in the room. The wide area where people should watch movies and entertain party guests served as debate central within my house. And today was a grand show that I almost deprived my eyes of.
As I had guessed, Thaiv had Tonnelle in a bear-hug, leaving her legs and arms wildly swinging as she wanted nothing more than to take the pathetic life which Chaz called his own. I had never seen her like that, but always guessed a fiery scrapper was imprisoned behind her proper grammar and educated monologues. Chaz, the not-most-illuminous individual of our home and “crew” continued to defend his weak and ignorant point-of-view, “Its not excessive if the jackass is tweeked out on shrooms and charging like a mad bull.”
Iliana provided the retort, which provided the glass window through which illuminated Chaz’s true ignorance, “what if it had been your brother Roland that got shot, huh Chaz?” There was silence, brief but eternally enlightening. “What if your brother had had one of his shroom episodes,” Iliana continued, “would you call it excessive if a cop shot him dead, for charging like a mad bull?”
“It’s different,” Chaz muttered, “but not because my brother is white, but because he is not a normally violent person.” Chaz never fails to amaze me! Not ever have I been more surprised about the ignorance and stupidity and shallow-minded thinking of a person, than when I listen to Chaz. This guy from the wrong side of the tracks who has bragged about being tough, gloated about being from the mean streets, and even delighted in the fact that he had been to juvenile detention. This crazy blonde white boy knew nothing of the struggle so many dark-skinned Americans faced on the daily.
Chaz knew nothing of what it meant to be victimized based on skin color or ethnic ancestry. He had no idea what it was like to feel the weight of subtle and blatant oppression, nor the bleak and obscured cultural history deprived from its people through violence and enslavement. And in this very moment he revealed a truth we all have theorized: Chaz was a delusional, self-unaware, bigot.
“Not normally violent? You racist sonuva—” Tonnelle began, before being interrupted by Iliana.
“Who said the guy that got shot was violent?” Chaz could not reply. Iliana shook her head, “he had no criminal history. In fact, I don’t think he even had any speeding tickets. He was 19, partied a little too hard one night, and now has three bullets wounds in his face and a no vacancy coffin for it.”
“It’s like the first time you took shrooms Chaz,” Manny said. Up until now he had observed like me; taking it in, waiting for the opportune moment to pass on wisdom. “However, when you ran outside in the buff, screaming about micro-Martians invading your bunghole, no cop shot you.”
On any other day, everyone would have laughed, even me. But not today. Today was too serious. A nineteen year old black guy had died a couple weeks ago, and today the officer that shot him was getting a free ride for murder. No one disputes that the officer killed the young suspect. But all were on the debate panel on rather or not it was justified. To me, it was pure and clear to see: murder.
Whenever a cop shoots someone and that suspect dies, rather guilty or not, rather deserved or not, the cop is a killer: a person or thing that kills. With the current situation I see the cop as someone who committed murder while on duty, and hid behind the law and their badge to get away with it.
Murder.
Simple and straight forward definition of the word murder: the unlawful killing of a person, especially when done with deliberation or premeditation or occurring during the commission of another serious crime. That’s straight from the Webster’s College Dictionary. The other crime the cop was committing as their itchy little index finger pulled at the trigger a record seven times within three seconds? The immoral crime of being a bullying racist! A crime of falling in the mesh of goo that is stereotyping and being a frightened coward.
When one signs up for the task to serve as civil servant under the title of police, or peace, officer, they willingly sign a contract that states that they will place their life on the line every day in the hunt for peace, harmony, defense, justice, and freedom. To tremble and say ‘I was afraid for my life because the obviously intoxicated suspect was running at me drooling and blubbering, so I emptied my clip into their face’ seems to be a cop-out. Funny how that word has the word cop in it.
“Chaz, I really think you need to just close your mouth and think of it like this,” Manny suggested. “You, who has a juvenile record and loves to post about how you hate cops, take a few too many shrooms because you feeling good and wanna just get blasted, end up really getting blasted by a cop known to have an itchy-killing-trigger-finger because you were too boisterous about how you felt. Add to it that the cop don’t take kindly to low-life, poor, scum-bags, which you are because you take shrooms, at least, in the cop’s eyes. Is that fair?”
Chaz was quiet for a long time before his brow wriggled and his lips began to part. I really wanted to know what self-incriminating nonsense he was going to utter but the door opened as my cousin Nori arrived home. He was intense and fuming, his brow dipped so low I thought it wanted to kiss his lips. “This is some bull!” he snapped as he threw his coat on the ground. Vulgar language and lack of observing OCD organization and neatness, both unusual for him. He must have heard the news while at work. “How the hell has another cop got away with this crap?”
No one could answer but me, “it was inevitable and by design.” Everyone turned to me, their eyes wide. I was even taken aback hearing my voice echo. It came from somewhere I knew not of. But all eyes were on me and maybe the young had to inspire a different way of thinking. Maybe now a youth should provide wisdom. It was so clear to me what had been going on for so many years. The fact none of them seemed to even have a hint or piece or sliver of the truth was more than troubling. It was embarrassing and appalling. They were adults. Young and college educated, save Chaz and Thaiv.
“It has all been leading up to this, for years,” my voice echoed again. Still the adults stared me down not knowing what to expect next from my loose tongue. “The powers-that-be want this!” I roared.
“Is this some conspiracy dribble,” Manny laughed
“No!” I answered matter-of-factly. “Years ago the president drops out of a buncha treaties and contracts and whatever else designed to maintain fragile peace, or the illusion of it. Then they have the audacity to tell the world governments to do what they wanted with their military might and weaponry, because America was going to build armaments and ensure defensive strategies were in proper place. That same president then asks Congress to go to war months later because of an act of terrorism.”
The adults all stared at me. I could feel my chest fill with enthusiasm and confidence, “then the next president claims they will repair all the damage, only to allow a bill to be passed so that normal everyday folk are allowed to carry concealed weaponry. This is directly correlated to the rise of police shootings against so-called suspects that were feared to be dangerous and potentially carrying some sort of life threatening object. So, more poor people die, more minorities; I’m talking about the people deemed unimportant by certain leaders of the free world. Young black males, who have the mostly erroneous portrayal of being loud, unruly, dumb, oversexed, horrifically dressed, and criminally inclined. You get those cases like down in Missouri where a black kid dies and the community goes completely nuts. The story runs across all platforms of media and police officers from other cities begin to fear retaliation so they are more inclined to pull their pistols and unleash hell when in similar situations.”
“Woah, the kid has a point!” Thaiv gasped.
“Now, the targeted populous is afraid of misunderstandings ending in their death,” I continue, “so, they too go out and buy weapons to defend themselves. Men who would have never wanted to even hold a gun, now own two or three so that they could protect their families and selves from racist, sadistic cops that get a hard-on when blood spills from innocent young dark-skinned bodies. Cops shoot innocent folks and get a free ride, no punishment, in turn the citizens start shooting back. It becomes a vicious blood-stained cycle of madness all initiated and accepted and approved by the governing powers. No one becomes safe and fear seizes control over all.”
“But that would be hell-on-earth,” Chaz muttered.
“Exactly! It will spin totally out of control when people are no longer afraid of the cops and death. At that time we as a nation will fall into bedlam and emerge from the other end of this quicksand-trap of violence and anarchy, which will lead to a despotic society where killing becomes legal for twenty four hours or we the masses are entertained by the slaughtering of kids by other kids. It would be total chaos as everyone is carrying: child and adult, black or white, differently abled versus genius. No one will feel safe and that’s when we’ll allow our freedoms to be snatched away in order for peace and harmony to return. That’s when we’ll let the powers-that-be openly and freely rule over us, no questions or complaints.”
“Wait,” Iliana interrupted, “but this doesn’t sound like the government actually wins out either, they’d take too many loses. It wouldn’t be worth it.”
“That’s only if you actually think that the government ultimately rules us,” I snorted. “The damn government is nothing more than the Rooks, Bishops, and Knights on the chessboard, while you, and me, and people like the guys getting shot across America are the pawns.”
“Who are the Kings and Queens?” Chaz asked. It may have been the only intelligent worthwhile sound he made, ever.
“That would be religion and science,” I answered. “Two equally valuable pieces that really need the other to survive, losing value when the opposite goes missing.
“So, the religious and science folks are in control?” Chaz questioned, his brain obviously turned to painful mush as I revealed truth.
I smiled at the adults, who mouths are gaped as their minds twitched with the spark of enlightenment. “Did you forget that chess pieces need hands to move them? And no, before you even go into it Tonnelle, I ain’t talking God and the Devil. Not anything transcendental at all.”
For dramatic effect I allowed it to hang in the air: the uncertainty of what I would blurt out next. “The one pulling all the strings are the representatives of the two percent; I am talking moneybag CEO types that truly run it all with their money and charities and loopholes to avoid taxes so their money purses burst at the seams for all time.”
They all laughed, even my cousin, feeling justified in their misunderstanding of my point. I continued, ignoring the rudeness, “not conspiracy theory jackasses. Truth!” I came to the bottom of the steps and entered the debate hall known as our family room. “I am serious. What will inevitably happen when everyone carries? Some cop will take it too far one too many times, maybe shoot a pretty Asian girl. Then the cannons will lite the future with ash and blood. Trained officers will begin winning due to obtained skill and armament funding, but as more and more people join the cause of fighting back against corrupt judicial systems and bullying cops, the tides will turn and the people will no doubt exit victorious, leaving the nation without a legal force to ensure people’s depravity not surpass their Id and seize complete control. We will be a country without law or direction.”
No one interrupted, so I couldn’t tell if they began to follow or they humored me only to tease and jest later. “Crime will become common and the law of “survival of the fittest” will have an entirely new meaning. With the police force gone some rich whack-off will fund a privatized military force to subjugate the lost, confused, and needy, dumb populous. The people will allow their lives to be controlled by the savior of the nation. It sickens me to think I even live with some of these same people who would be quick to put their heads in the mud to reveal their smooth bums for the wealthy to abuse.
“That’s enough Netti,” my cousin shouted. “You’ll apologize for disrespecting everyone here.”
From my hoodie pocket I pulled out a Glock, and it was far heavier than I had imagined it to be. They all gasped and my cousin Nori said something in regards to informing my mother. “I don’t care,” I yelled. “I will not apologize to the weak. I will not be a victim, I will not be profiled. I will remain free and safe.” Chaz whimpered about how I got a gun. Thaiv wondered aloud who it belonged to. Tonelle remained quiet, her lips twitching in anticipation of something quite horrific I feared, while Iliana trembled. It was most unfair to her that I held the pistol. She lost boyfriend and son in a drive-by some years back. Maybe three or four. The pain scarred deep and shone like a river of neon red from her tear-filled eyes.
“Where did I get it? Not important,” I said. “How’d I get it? Real easy. I went online and simply filled out a form answering some basic questions, and within three weeks my concealed weapon license arrived. Ironically enough there are no significant counters and measures to police who completes the application form and passes the test. Which is the point; they want me to have this weapon! Those in charge want me ready and rearing a desire to maim and kill.”
Pulling the gun out was the only way to ensure I had their undivided attention. They all backed to the far wall, obviously fearing my retaliation against them. “You’re family, and I have no quam against you all. But that’s my point: you all know me and yet you fear the worst from me. You wanna call the cops, but who knows, maybe they’ll shoot Nori first since he’s Black.”
I looked at them all, wanting to make each feel the weight of truth, “they might export Iliana and Manny, you know how Mexicans sneak in the United States. Tonnelle, you’d be cuffed because you’re a wild black wench druggie, and Thaiv, obviously you’re a Korean or Communist spy from some Asian jungle nation!” Still not convinced they stared at me, so I waved the pistol barrel their direction, aimlessly swinging it to and fro. Heavy and clumsy make for poor bed partners, and they all screamed and waved their hands in front of them, as if that would deflect a mistaken bullet fired from my Glock.
They did not need to know the weapon was empty and the safety was on. I had a point to make. I was going to make it. “The powers-that-be want us at one another’s throats for crowd control, a sort of natural weeding out process. They want us to slaughter ourselves so they could pick up the remaining pieces for their trophies or conquest and achievements. I am prepared for what comes next. I knew it long ago it was coming, and I know it is just about here. I will survive. There is only one result from all of this, and that is revolution!”


Submitted: September 01, 2022

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