Prophets for Sale

Heroes towered together, in the Fortress of Man, as time spun the world to the verge of a global nuclear catastrophe. Chemical warfare was perfected, targets were located, missiles were locked and lines were crossed. Paranoia spread across the world as people came to find the secret their government suppressed. The people knew their lives were expendable to their government for profits. They knew their towers fell that eleventh of September by the lust for greed, power. They knew their heroes were villains.

People band in the masses, marched to the capital unarmed, not for a proclamation or a declaration but for their official’s incarceration. The official’s public resignation counted for nothing, people wanted justice. The people wouldn’t stand and let war criminals walk free with their loved one’s blood in their hands, not after the revelations brought upon by an independent agent. He alone revealed everything the government kept hidden against the people they were inaugurated to serve. He alone dared to free the world from the shackles of liberty.

It was the French revolution all over again only this time no royalty, those in power, were hung or beheaded because the powers that be had learned what needed to be done in order to maintain the upper hand against those who dare defy them. Why else would government officials be keen as to monitor civilians? If they know where the revolution begins they know where to send their puppets to take control of the situation. An elementary scheme all too flawed to those defective towards their dumbing immunization chemicals.

 Riots brawled in the streets as the police armed in military gear suppressed those in rural parts of the revolution. All media outlets, owned by corporations, exploited those who joined the cause; anyone who opposed their new world order. Writers, members of the elite cult, mocked those who lead the revolution in their shows, movies, by turning the world against them; pinning them as the terrorist. Their antics were lost to those aware, to those awake from their deceit, to the rest of the 99 percent.

The masses had grown wise to the government’s manipulation propaganda machine. Two thousand years of lies had finally caught up to the master puppeteers. While the media kept quiet on the matter, the internet weaved multitude of links for people to find and join the truth. Little did they know, those links were created by the government to track those leading and joining the revolution. As the media dumbed its sheep, the internet enlightened all. It wasn’t long before people started to notice the government censor and block that truth as well, fueling the revolt.

“He is not one of us nor will he ever be.” The new king proclaimed. His brethren stood around while the old king’s daughter remained in disbelieve. “He broke the rules, Princess. So I ask again, who here will help this illegal stray?” He gestured to a file on the table, a picture lay expose. “Who will go beyond the line of duty just to rescue an outsider who stands against us?” He waited for an answer while the old king’s daughter urged them, anyone, to see beyond their borders. One bravely stepped forward only to be killed on the spot. “No one is going to his rescue,” he addressed the Princess, “I am absolution!”

“If my father were still around,” the Princess began, “He’d see you behind bars.” The Princess kneeled beside her fallen hero as she closed his eyes for the last time. “My father would have shown mercy to that stray because even the old kings knew what it took to keep a nation, not just sustain one.” The new king chuckled. “We have lost!” She exclaimed to the rest, to the other heroes, as she took her stance. “We have become puppets to the forces of evil. Greed has made us forget who we were, what we stood for. That outsider may not be one of us, but neither were we. Please,” she pledged once more, “Be the hero. Prove them wrong.”

“They aren’t going to do anything unless I say so.” The new king replied cold-heartedly. “Don’t forget where their legions lie.”

“Then I’ll ask you again,” she implored.

“But you already know the answer, Princess.” The boss reminded her. “Besides we never go back on our word. What makes you think he can be trusted? It was you who sold and purged all of his unpublished work, why would he trust you?” He laughed while he sat on his throne made of silver and gold. “You see now, how someone can alter their perspective of you once they’ve received our answer. An answer that would have changed their lives for the better. An answer they weren’t expecting. Do you see now, Princess, who he really is?” He looked her in the eye, “You should be thanking me, if not he’d betray you first.”

“His trust was never needed because he’s better than that. We used to be better than that.” The Princess confessed. “We need him just as much as he needs us.” The Princess leveled with the new king once more. “Don’t forget why you turned your machine on in the first place. You went out looking for his insights, or has our majesty forgotten whose vision it was to move our troops out of Syria? Had we not listened to that stray, all of your platoons would have died; we would have been one squadron less. Prime for an irreversible loss.”

“Don’t tell me you have fallen for his cheap parlor trick as well.” He answered exhausted on the matter. “He is fooling you, why can’t you see that?”

“Because the only one being fooled is you.” The Princess proclaimed. “If you or anyone in here won’t help him, then I will.”

“You dare leave the circle?” He laughed, bewildered. “For an outsider? What would your father say? You know you can’t leave my presence; it was your fathers dying wish for me to keep you protected. Have I not?” He stopped, “Go soak in your silk bath, Princess, I’ll come up when you have simmered down.” He settled back in his throne, “I’ve had heard enough about him. My answer is final.” He took a bite of an apple sitting on the table, “Take her away.” He ordered his minions.

The Princess shook his minions away, proclaimed he would regret his decision and exited the room. The Princess didn’t in fact go to her chambers. Instead she sought to do what the heroes should have done a long time ago, the right thing; but do people ever do the right thing? To some, doing what’s right means doing what’s wrong. Yet it is they who forget the deed and the purpose is what deciphers the act from being good or bad.

Deep in the trenches of the Middle East, a heard of soldiers raided a small city near the borders of Iraq. Bombs exploded in every corner as innocent lives scattered from the debris. Smoke concealed the sun as people ran for cover, not sure where to go or where to hide. Small orphaned children cried as they stood calling for their missing God. Women screamed in their native tongue, urging anyone they crossed to follow them to safety. Brave civilians fought back with whatever they could find, but it wasn’t enough. Their city was purged in the name of justice, greed.

Gas grenades slowly creeped into their hiding spots, suffocating them to death. Hospitals were bombed as they fell to their foundation, killing all who resided inside. People ran not sure why their homes were being destroyed. American soldiers cleaned the streets with the native’s blood as they sought to change the world, one third world country at a time. Off in the distance, a small militia entered the crumbling city as they made their voices heard.

Their battle cry echoed with the bombs as they charged those who dared knock at their door. Frightful women and children desperately gravitated towards the militia for they were all the hope they had left after the gore they had just endured. The militia pulled them aside as bullets fired in the sand, aiming for their heads. The militia assured them their safety as they entered the gauntlet massacre. Shots were fired as the battle edged, each side slaughtering one another in hopes for the others defeat. Victory was declared as the outsiders placed their flag on top of the foreigner’s capital.

The militia gathered whoever limbed alive and took them across the border near a town unclaimed by the soldiers. There, they regrouped and armed themselves for yet another war ignited by justice. The militia men fed and clothed the lost, the weary. Supporters mended the injured. Volunteers gathered the dead. Hope was lost in the name of liberty as the foreigner’s home were taken by free men under orders.

“This is wrong,” Jone began as he sat by the fire surrounded by the injured. The militia guarded the grounds. “How can the world be oblivious to the slaughter caused by the peacemakers? Where have all the good people gone?” He asked himself over and over as cries of pain and misery whispered in the night. A child next to him sobbed as he muttered the bloodshed of his family. Jone did nothing to comfort the kid for he had no clue as to what to say. It was his people, after all, who had invaded their homes.

The full moon beamed while the stars harmonized in the sky. Clouds hovered as the night whispered effortlessly; surrounding them, comforting them. Light in the distance gleamed as bombs exploded, war kept the night warm. A man bearing wood came as the fire dimmed. He wrestled the barks of wood into the fire, warming those who sat around. He dared not look up for he could see the injustice in their scars.

“Why are we attacking them?” Jone asked the man bearing wood. Only he understood his language. “Does the world not know it was us behind 9/11 and not them? Are people not awake from the lies our officials keep spreading?” He shook his head, trying to erase the images of innocent bloodshed. “This is wrong.” The man bearing wood said nothing, he contemplated as the fire grew.

“Oil is a finite resource.” Doe finally answered as he made a spot to sit. The fire cracked as the wood burned. “No one alive, aware, are surprised at the extent officials will go to just so they can keep a sense of stability. Putting the blame on some foreign country is a lie much easier to convince. After all, 9/11 did happen and we all tuned in to watch. Did we do something about it afterwards, yes. Was it the right thing to do, no. People weren’t too fond of the Iraq War just as much as the Vietnam War but they still fought them. It’s not the people who have all the power, so why blame them?”

“Because they contribute to our official’s corruption by fighting their wars.” Jone replied. “They murder innocent lives for medals, for honor. If people aren’t in charge, why fight a war they didn’t start?”

“Some, if not all, do it for the money.” Doe answered. “Money is the root of all our problems. Others, on the contrary, are fooled or believe they are doing their duty by protecting their country; we all have our reasons.”

“But how can bloodshed be justifiable?” Jone asked, frustrated on the matter. “Why can’t people see it’s our officials to blame for the world’s problem and no one else? They are the ones in power, so shouldn’t they be put to blame? The French learned that a long time ago. When will the world follow through?” A woman carrying a basket handed them food and water. She said nothing as she passed. “All those websites in the internet that expose the truth, with evidence, isn’t enough to incarcerate our officials with crimes of war. Protesting for their incarceration will only get you arrested, hacked and exploited. How is any of that right?”

“What makes you, or anyone, think those websites are being run by people who represent the masses and not just one percent of them then?” Doe replied. “If they reveal the truth, why hasn’t anyone been arrested? Where’s the change their website declare? Wouldn’t you suspect the government is behind all of those websites as well? Wouldn’t they be just another propaganda machine for their puppets to spread? To keep their lies relevant.”

“Don’t forget,” Doe recalled, “The government runs everything, their puppets are everywhere. Recruiting people to spy on those who oppose or don't belong in their new world order. Scouting for unsung heroes to purge. Storing useless data in order to use as leverage and exploit anyone who dares stand against them and their cult. It’s how tyrants keep their power, nation.” He paused, “It’s what they did to my friend only no one believed him, I didn’t believe him. Not until I became a target.” They remained silent, the fire burned.

“Is that why you joined the militia?” Jone asked.

“No, why?” Doe questioned.

“Why did you join then?” Jone seemed intrigued.

“I didn’t.” Doe answered. “They came to me.” He reflected, “I had a friend who challenged his officials because he could; he was a citizen after all. I, on the other hand, was brought to America because my parents wanted a better life not just for them but for me; a life our ancestors had before the settlers arrived and were forced to migrate elsewhere. My parents faithfully believed, blinded by the lies officials pass for truth to keep their heads free of speculations and scrutiny, in the America that once existed. If it ever existed.”

Doe tossed a few more barks of wood into the fire, fanned its flames and kept the warmth strong. “It’s unfortunate that my parents and the millions of refugees fleeing to America weren’t aware that the America and her everlasting beacon of hope was just an illusion for those seeking solace where they are not welcomed. I was blessed enough to have met someone who didn’t see color or race. He helped me in ways any human could. He showed me that there are still good people around.”

 “When my friend joined the revolution,” Doe dug deeper, “He implied that the New World Order, good and evil, had team up against him; that the government was monitoring, exploiting him. Singling him out from the others who opposed. Eradicating them one by one. He kept shoving his paranoia down my throat, urging me to believe him but I didn’t. Why would the government spy, single out some small city kid with no ambitions? Don’t they have bigger problems on their plate? All he did was challenge his officials to better their congress, like any other citizen wanting a fair government.”

“It’s not when the media announced the government were tracking non-citizens when I began to understand what he had meant.” Doe pondered for a moment. “He killed himself before I could tell him I believed,” Doe spoke to the fire. “I didn’t blame him for his suicide because I understood. I knew then what he had meant by having the government spy on his every word, overwhelming him with paranoia; pushing him to suicidal thoughts, mad. Everything I did, all the side jobs I could get to the life I was living under the government’s watchful eye suddenly became television content.”

“You too?” Jone interrupted.

“I didn’t know what to do.” Doe replied. “I contacted Anonymous Headquarters, all those websites declaring they stand by and fight for the people, seeking help but I only came to find they too were bought puppets. They began to do what the government and the elite cult were doing, exploiting secrets to sell their propaganda.” He paused, “I didn’t know who to go to. The only one who knew what I was going through, my only friend, killed himself because no one believed him. I didn’t believe him.” He closed his eyes to forget.

“With my father deported,” Doe continued, “I couldn’t fill my mother with my inconveniences. It was bad enough she was diagnosed with cancer. Hearing my propaganda would have only added extra stress, it would have been too much for her to handle. So I kept to myself thinking it was for the best.” He stopped, “I then came to find that the government had deported her as well while I was gone.” He tossed a few more barks of wood into the fire. The light grew warmer.

“I went to the closets church I could find to seek shelter,” Doe commented a moment later. “Because that’s what they’re there for, one would think. I spoke to the pastor and confessed everything. He told me I could spend the night until I sort out my differences. That same night Homeland Security came for me, the pastor had sold me out. They came for me but they weren’t going to take me back to Mexico, they always have other things in mind. Whatever it is they wanted from me, God only knew, I sure as hell didn’t.”

“They were going to keep me in their detention center, interrogate whatever information they could get out of me.” Doe addressed Jone, “I could already see their torture chambers when suddenly we got ambushed. At first, I didn’t know what was happening. Guns blazed, names were called. It all happened so fast. I thought that was the end for me when the doors opened and there they were, the militia. A woman called to me, ‘Stay or come with us,’ as she killed the guards. I’ve been under their custody ever since.” Doe ended. “What about you? How did you get involved in all of this?”

“Well,” Jone began, “Like your friend, I too challenged my officials because I could. As a citizen, it’s my right and obligation to challenge my officials because it’s my life in their hands. No one seems to grasp that concept. Whether you’re a citizen or not, you live here too; all voices count. I lost numerous of friends because of my rebellion on social media. Even my family turned a blind eye on what was happening around us. My father kicked me out of the house and told me to do something better with my life. I stayed with a few friends before they too found out about my resistance, my place in the revolution.”

“No one wanted to get involved in fear of losing their jobs, their stability.” Jone guessed, not sure of the real reason. “When millions of others have lost theirs, so what about them? Where’s their justice?” He paused, “No one likes to get involved in fear of the government put them on a list and hack their secrets when there are agencies made for that very reason, to explore people’s secrets. There are branches of the government, cults, that recruit for espionage. Sure they give their reasons, to keep our nation secure, yet violence seems to escalate.”

“Why have the government spy on everyone if crime keeps escalating?” Jone asked. “How has the NSA, FBI or the CIA alone not prevented all those mass shootings in the past year, decade? Since they have a close eye on everyone with rigged phones and satellites that monitor everything, why hasn’t anyone been stopped?” Jone paused. “It’s not until I came to find that the government is run by an elite cult whose sole purpose is to seek and illuminate hidden truths when I decided to write a book about it.”

“Like you said before,” Jone compared, “I too began to see the truth. Everything I saved, every unpublished book, in my pen drive was exploited on television, commercials and online by the all-seeing cult. So I filed a law suit against these agencies that were exploiting, hacking, my data but the more I inquired for their charges the more I saw my life be expose on the television screen. My past was referenced in commercials, secrets were revealed in movies and talk shows. They’ll say no to you but yes to your ideas. It didn’t surprise me as to how much one can benefit from your talent without your consent when the government sets laws design to keep a close eye on people.”

“The more lawsuits I inquired against their best puppets the more did I see just who in this world had sold their fate to evil.” Jone stated. “Every morning I’d wake to hear the news recite what I’ve written, done, the night before. Topics of what I wrote in chapters, said to loved ones, were theirs to comment, emulate and exploit. All of my unpublished books were spoiled, purged because I didn’t belong, I oppose, their new world order. It’s not until I stumbled upon the militia’s mission when I finally saw a light at the end of the tunnel. The universe had at long last delivered me a ray of hope.”

“Finally,” Jone exhausted, “Someone sees what I see. Someone out there knows the truth and are doing something about it. So, I contacted the militia. Next thing I know they pay for my plane ticket and I’m off to Lebanon. I’ve been with them ever since.” He reminisced, “Four years of injustice, war against my own brothers and sisters. Years without seeing someone familiar, family.” He shook his head in despair, “This is all wrong.” Doe said nothing. “Our government invoke civil unrest, war, for profits while undesirables are being exploited by the elite, altering history to their design. Justifying them playing God.”

“The rest of the population do nothing in hopes of being spared just so they can keep a roof over their heads, food on the table and their secrets safe from the watchful eye.” Jone paused, “If everyone has a purpose, why was theirs to be a sheep?” Jone finished, anger caught in his throat. “They only suppress, monitor, those who defy because that’s how you keep a slave nation under control.”

“Is that not for profits then?” Doe later asked. “Our country fight for black gold while these foreigners fight to keep their homes. Homes cost money to sustain, gold lets us keep our homes so aren’t we fighting the same war? Are lines not blurred? War is never the answer but it leads to results, yet nothing has been fixed. War has merely become a profitable repetitive tradition with no end in sight. Peace can be the answer and just imagine what bountiful results that would produce.” The fire began to dim. Doe tossed the wood around to keep it alive.

“If you didn’t join, why are you here?” Jone asked. “If no one is keeping you hostage, why not ask them to take you back home?”

“Because in me being here,” Doe began, “I’ve noticed how lost the militia are. Granted, I’m here on my own free will but the more I stay the more I see how desperate for a guide they’ve become. People who are awake gravitate towards the militia because they see them fighting the real enemy, us. Our government trained these rebels to fight their enemies but now that they are fighting to protect their homes from us, they’re labeled as terrorist for resisting. Those easily fooled believe the militia are terrorist but those who aren’t know better. It’s unfortunate that those numbers are low.”

“Take you for example,” Doe pointed out, “You were on the right path only you got discouraged because you didn’t get any results, justice. Because they hacked and purged your life they’ve committed a crime punishable by law; corporate espionage, terrorism, exploitation, obstruction of justice, tampering of evidence, official oppression. How is an elite cult who everyone knows to illuminate truths not be held or seen liable in a court of law?”

“Because not everyone would believe.” Jone answered. “They use the government as a shield to execute their crimes. How is anyone to correct the system when those in office use the charges exposing their corruption as a means to target and exploit those making a difference?" Silence took over. "Most of them are members if not eagerly anticipating a membership, anyways." Jone ended, "Not everyone benefits from their blessings.”

“Then wouldn’t that be up to you to make the world see that truth?” Doe asked. “If not you, then who? Who out there in this big brave world of ours is wise enough to stand against these giants? Intimidation is the only thing protecting these suppressors. By them spying on everyone, their intimidation's get real and personal but isn’t that the acts of a desperate tool? A tool who knows they’ve been defeated? Why else keep a close eye on the public, retaliating by exploiting those they spy on? Seeking small victories to replace their endless defeats.”

Doe paused for Jone to reply but he remained silent. Doe noticed there seemed a change in Jone as he continued, “Are we the people not better, braver than them?” Doe kept the dimming light from fading. “You are the power they fear because you are of a different kind; that is what makes you, us, targets. They’ll let you in on their little cult, gang, but if you don’t measure up to their unrealistic standards they’ll feed you to the sharks.”

“Our officials forget along with the elite cult,” Doe added, “We, the people, are what steers this nation to the future. We are the future they can’t oppress. Those keeping track on unwelcome people who inspire revolutions, to them, we are mere prophets on sale. Free thinkers exploited, hacked by the watchful eye but to the rest of the sleeping world we are their heroes, unsung legends, urging us to free them from the lies they cling to. That is why we resist, defy, because we weren’t made to be controlled. We were made to live.”

Wind blew the embers up into the air as they pranced away then disappear into the night. Jone and Doe remained in the circle, surrounded by those labeled terrorist. The fire warmed as it cracked. The night slowly transitioned into dawn as the stars faded effortlessly by the approaching sun. They looked around and shared the pain of losing their homes to the forces of liberty and justice.

“You can take those who wronged you to court,” Doe suggested, “Just know their members will tamper the truth. Know this,” he added, “It is not the win but the exposure that counts. Expose one elite in court can lead to the rest and the cult they hide behind. You wouldn’t be the first or the last exposing them. Once word gets out, others will join in. It is they, though, who are being persecuted, silenced, in the process. Care to guess why? Because the all-seeing cult know there are countless of others who defy, expose, the truth that jeopardizes their old new world order. For every member there are ten million nonmembers ready to purge, overthrow them into poverty.”

“Puppets have strings and strings leave trails that lead to the puppeteer.” Doe quoted. “Once you reach that age when you figure out who the real enemy is, they will find you. Just like they found the others before you. They will send their minions after you, exploit your life in their shows, movies, ads but they’ll only be proving you right. So go home, Jone.” Doe finished. “Go home and change the world there. It’s become your destiny.” Doe gathered the rest of the wood and made his way to another dimming fire.

Jone reminisced as Doe’s suggestion settled. Suddenly, Jone had a whole new perspective. His heart lightened, his mind raced and his spirit rekindled. At last, he thought, Jone had found a better purpose in life. He handed the kid who mumbled the loss of his family his share of food and water then made his way to the camp. There, he would pardon with the militia and head back home where he can sort out the problems of his country there.

“Excuse me.” The Princess apologized as she ran into Jone. “My name is Erra, I’m looking for someone.” She extended a hand to Jone as she stood to dust the dirt off her shoulders. “It’s a long shot but I’m asking everyone I meet or stumble upon, have you seen him?” Jone seemed lost and disoriented. He turned to where Doe had left and noticed he was gone. Jone then turned to Erra as she added, “I didn’t get his name but he’s tall, Hispanic, dark hair.” Erra blushed, “You probably don’t know who I’m talking about, sorry for the interruption. Thank you for your help.”

“No, wait.” Jone replied. “What do you want with him?”

“So you know him?” Erra asked.

“I might,” Jone answered. “Why haven’t I seen you before?”

“Would you happen to know where he is?”

“I’m going to need a name or a detailed description.” Jone commented. “Do you know how many guys fit that role right now?”

“I don’t have much time,” she replied. “I need his help. Please, this is urgent, point me in the right direction. Where did you see him last?”

“Here,” Jone ushered her, “Let’s start here.” Together, Jone and Erra entered the camp where the injured moaned from the pain that killed them. Dawn approached with the sound of explosions. More soldiers heard the grounds as innocent blood smeared the Holy Lands. Woman and children ran for their lives. Men stayed and fought to protect their homes from the invaders. They were no match for the sons of liberty. The militia stumbled as they retreated with whoever they could rescue. Jone and Erra were caught in the fire.

“Where is she!” The king demanded as he stormed out of the Princess chambers. His minions ignorantly muffled for explanations as he passed. He scrolled through their monitors, searching for the Princess whereabouts. He looked and looked until he saw her exit their fortress, their Watchtower of Sanctuary. “Who let her escape?!” He wanted answers and he wanted them now. No one dared say a word.

His temper rising, the new king made his way down the tower and into the dungeons. There, his prisoners rot to death; their corpses float in the sewers. Far in the deepest of corners, one prisoner remained, the old king, locked forever in his cell. Kept alive, left to die slowly but surely. The new king took a torch and toyed with his last remaining captor. He laughed as the old pitiful sack of rotting flesh he once called king begged for his release.

“It seems that we have found ourselves another one of your successors,” the new king began, “My liege.” The boss walked back and forth, admiring himself as always. “He’s stuck in your old ways, the idiot.” He paused. “All that potential and still they remain clinging to the past when it’s the future they should embrace. Our future. They need to know your old ways are over. This is the new world, my world. We no longer need old kings like you, no, we have found so much more. And I have delivered just that, without your guidelines.”

“So,” the king finished, “While the world spins ignorant, we illuminate with excellence by the insights we are monitoring. I transcended this worthless cult you handed down to me and I’ve made it worth wild. No other king has done the things I’ve done, just to keep this recycled nation you call home. And I’m not finished, not by a long shot. I’m going to sell your country to the terrorist. I’ll make them the president, what would you think of your nation then, my old king?” He smiled, “To know the world mourned a king who lives just to watch his nation deteriorate.” He laughed, maniacally.

“Your daughter left the circle,” the new king remembered to mention, “For an outsider.”

“Even she knows what it takes to keep a nation.” The old king replied.

Furious, the new king stormed out of the dungeon leaving the Princess’s father locked in his cell. High did the elevator ascend as he searched the world for his missing Princess in the palm of his hand. His country came alive as the sun rose behind him. His minions scrambled for resolutions while his noble puppets remained exposed buried in lawsuits. The Princess was his only key to turning things around. Without her his agendas would only free the world from their deceit, according to plan. No one leaves my circle.

West of Asia

            For as long as time could sustain the illusion, coming to America was a dream not many could have the privilege of becoming true. Crossing that great divide was a feat all on its own. No borders or laws could stop immigrants from all pillars of the world to arrive in a nation that once was held as a beacon for hope. Its liberty statue grounded near the bay as she beamed her eternal flame to all come rich or poor, attracting the lost and weary as they sought for a new beginning. A new beginning towards a better life.

History remembers when America stood united under the same flag. The constitution and its anthem run through the veins of every man and woman, reminding them their rights and freedom. Time remembers the glorious victories America once held. Every battle won in the name of justice, liberty to all. The power America once reigned over the lands now lay in ruins, lost forever, as I remember.

            That world no longer exist. The only place America stands is in history books, foretelling of the rise and eternal fall of the first greatest nation modern times has ever known. Where one falls others will rise, is what history teaches. Where one nation burns, another ascends to its throne. It’s the culture epoch theory no one remembers to forget. The thesis of every nation is set in stone, its future written in the stars for the enemy to prey on.

            Though many perished in the fall our great king, the Imperial Emperor of Asia, spared those he deemed worthy. Billions of innocent lives were gone in the disarray, slaughtered into submission, and though our beginning may be gruesome it is no different than any other nation ascending to its throne. Few would agree our king, Imperial Emperor of Asia, set the flames ablaze but few would forget we were simply taking what was ours to begin with.

            We, the people of Asia, funded what was known as America. Christopher Columbus, the founding father himself, sought to establish a better trading route for Asia’s convenience. Though they omit that fact in their history books. Had it not been for Columbus ties with Asia, there wouldn’t be an America to look back on. We stabilized their shares in the stock market, manufactured their toys; we brought them the future. We produced everything they own, to the clothes on their backs, expecting to receive the generosity we had extended.

It wasn’t long before our then king realized we would never get what we had given. Our king was patient. He accepted what little scraps America’s top wealthiest sponsors could give with caution. He stood back and watched America rise as they became the enforcers of an unstable world. He did nothing as America revealed its true color but when the moment came, he struck where it mattered most.

            Currency shifted to the yen, giving Asia the investment she lost in America. Their president declared war again but failed to deliver. Our emperor gathered a small ally and with their help, we boycotted the American war machine. While their solders fought with loud machinery, our brothers starved them to death. America was not prepared for a famine, a move our king had foreseen. America fell while Asia rose, the world stabilized.

            As Asia grew into a global empire, America retreated to its colonial era. The once great united nation split into small third world countries. The last remaining states of America formed into what we call today the Warrington States for that is all they know, war. The rest were conquered lands given to Asia’s most trusted allies. Our emperor shared his new found territory with the nations who fought with Asia.

            Though chaos is a natural order trying to mend itself, something good came out of the great fall. Tinsel-Town was created to bring tourists from all walks of life to share and experience the global nation we know today as Asia. Tinsel-Town is a state where all cultures mesh together to depict our history, unity and victory. Tinsel-Town is Asia’s Disneyland for those who remember. Most of Asia’s wealth stems from Tinsel-Town, which makes it highly guarded with strict laws placed by the neighboring Warrington States.

            Many can be learned by the fall of what once was America. Our king reminds us every year as we celebrate those we lost during our victory. Honor is our pride, glory is our throne and though the Warrington States continue to fall, we stand. The world lost a nation only to gain global domination. Asia rules as one while its noble allies thrive. We know no secret elite cult other than the crumbling states struggling to remain illuminated. We know no hidden agenda other than the usual Warrington States plotting for Asia’s demise. The year 3999 is Asia’s year of enlightenment, our reign.

            “Too bias?” Xi asked as he waited for his mother to read his essay.

            “There is nothing bias about this paper,” Sen marveled as she set his paper down, “It’s to the point with immense historical accuracy.” She glanced back at his paper, “I would add how Asia was once only China. Also, briefly explain how China united with Korea, before they were known as North and South Korea. Don’t forget about Japan too. Good use of referencing your facts though.”

            “Are you doing his homework?” Mesakuya objected as she entered Xi’s room. “You said you would be done by then.”

            “I am done.” Xi replied.

            “I’m not doing his homework,” Sen proclaimed, “He asked if I could evaluate his essay.”

            “You had all semester to finish that and just now are you getting it done.” Mesakuya snarled, “The shame! How are we ever going to enjoy this family retreat if both of you are too focused with assignments?” Mesakuya placed Xi’s clothes on his bed and crossed her arms as she waited for an explanation. “We planned this trip for a long time and just now have we been granted the permission from our great emperor to go. I had my sights set on this family vacation for months, please don’t bring work with you.”

            “We were both surprised the king agreed to let us go,” Sen added, “We weren’t expecting a reply from him for another year, remember. But, we shall do as you say. Besides this looks like another ‘A’ for our honorable student.” Sen marveled at Xi’s penmanship while patting him on the back. “Let’s go make some memories!” Sen placed Xi’s paper on his desk as she and Mesakuya exited his room.

            The Woh family packed their bags and began their journey across the great lake, west of Asia. Sen and Mesakuya sat beside each other as they planned their adventures in Little Russia leading up to their final destination, Tinsel-Town. Permission from the great king himself was needed in order to travel out of Asia for the Warrington States threat was imminent. Their threat was futile for the Warrington States held no power, but they were persistent in vain.

            Xi listened to his muse as the Atlantic shimmered underneath. He glanced towards the horizon, intuitively watching the scenery change from sea to land. As the plane landed in Azteca, they were off to begin their trip to Little Russia. Astonished were his eyes everywhere he turned. So this was Florida, Xi thought, how time has changed. The history of America lay fresh in his mind for he has learned plenty during his studies. He took his phone and opened an app containing the history of America. He skimmed through its digital content as he searched for information on Florida, now known as Azteca.

            “Xi, put that away.” Sen asked before Mesakuya could. “You know your mother has been anticipating this trip, let’s not bring her mood down, okay?” Xi hesitated as he tucked his phone in the back of his pocket. Together, they entered a crowded narrow street market where everything from the past to the distant past is valued at a price. Ancient stones from the war are sold for pennies. Murals depicting the fall are held at public auctions and books telling of scarring pasts are priceless.

            The market was packed with people wondering corner to corner, trying out the latest technology. Tall wide transparent tubes concealed people as they entered into holographic realms, projected into another world. Glasses framed interactive talking moving pictures. Hover boards and children on jet packs soared through the air. A lot has happened since the new birth, all worth wild. Xi’s turn to travel into a holographic universe was next. Sen and Mesakuya stayed behind as they examined a talking three dimensional mural on the other side.

            Before long, they were out walking past a bookstore cornered nearby. Xi instantly bought a book titled America the Great and began to read its pages. Sen and Mesakuya entered a private auction while Xi remained outside, reading in a small bench. With every page came pouring new revelations. Never had he read of the old America like this. America, portrayed as the hero and not the villain. Xi analyzed the book cover once more, debating in his head whether the book was based on facts or pure fiction.

            “America,” came a distant voice nearing from the crowd, “The Great? There was nothing great about this shit hole in the first place.” Xi closed the book and followed the voice. “Names Nina, nice to meet you.” She extended a hand to greet him. “You alone? On vacation? Where you from?” She bombarded him with questions as she sat next to Xi. “Catching up on your history? You must be a Scholar. How far do you have until your diploma Master Yoda?”

            “My name is Xi,” he replied, bewildered by the barrage of questions at hand. “I’m waiting on my parents.” He collected himself, “I’m on my last year actually. Getting real close to that diploma. Then I’ll have to get two more before completing my degree. You?”

            “I dropped out.” Nina answered carelessly. “I got too cool for school, as they used to say.” She reclined while soaking in the sun.

            “What did your parents say?” Xi questioned.

            “Nothing. They’re dead.” Nina replied casually.

            “I’m sorry to hear that.” Xi apologized. “I didn’t…”

            “Of course you didn’t,” Nina answered. “No one does until they ask.”

            “You here on vacation then?” Xi inquired, changing the topic.

            “No.” Nina asked, “Why are you?”

            “Yes.”

            “You want to ditch this place and go somewhere cool?” Nina suggested as she inched herself closer to Xi. “I know a place where we could go. Its tons of fun.”

            “I don’t know.” Xi debated, “I’m with my mothers.”

            “So tell them you found a spot you can chill,” Nina informed. “With people your age.” Xi turned to a shop, anticipated for someone familiar to appear. “Come on, it’s one hundred percent illegal and all exclusive.” Xi analyzed his chances then made a decision. He quickly sent a brief message to his mothers informing them of his whereabouts then followed Nina’s lead. It wasn’t long before Xi received a message on his phone from his mothers allowing him his adventures.

            Nina took Xi far away from the market. They crossed a garden hidden above a hill when Xi began to hear where Nina was taking him. Music echoed in the distance as they approached Nina’s spot. Loud built-up angst screamed in the air as people danced, paraded and played. “We call this joint Motanos,” Nina began, “By the smell of it.” Xi felt a slight breeze and smelled what she had mentioned, a sweet floral aroma with an undertone of burnt grass. His nerves eased, his stress calmed and his worries melted the deeper they went.

            A junk yard full of rusted cars and purged shops scattered throughout the wasteland as rebels rioted in their mischief. Xi couldn’t help but to smile as Nina held his hand through the valley of the youthful dead. Neon graffiti murals colored the vastness. She was his guide in a new cruel world. A world long gone sold by another. A world he was a part of. “These are my dogs.” Nina introduced a group of wild boys. They held their love interest close while gulping alcohol and inhaling blunts. “They’re harmless until they need to be but don’t worry I’ll never send my dogs after you.”

            Xi introduced himself to the others as he and Nina settled in a torn down limo. The boys didn’t ask many questions nor did Xi. The music infused with their laughter muffled their conversations. The festival marched on as Xi and Nina communicated. “This place is all new to me. Research and experience are all two different things. The rich history this part of Asia possesses are inspiring and haunting all at the same time. The history of the native people would become the history of the American people in time, who knew?”

Xi noticed Nina seemed bothered as he finished. “Do you guys live around here?” Xi later asked, changing the subject.

            “We don’t have a home, Scholar.” Nina finally answered as one of her friends passed the blunt to her. “We are homeless,” she paused, “We make everywhere our home. We purge the lands as we make our stand. We roam as freemen with no rights. It’s what makes us bold, brave and tough. You won’t find any other race like us because we are all that’s left.” Xi seemed intrigued. “We are the last descendants of the old past. We savage the ruins because this land still belongs to us, Americans.”

            In an instant, Xi stood up and walked away from Nina. Nina’s friends did the same, only they were armed. “What?” Nina asked calmly, “Did I say something? What’s up, Scholar?”

            “Nothing,” Xi played it cool, “It’s just your kind aren’t welcomed in the Asian kingdom of Azteca. I mean, it’s our law; my…”

            “Outsider,” Nina’s friend interrupted. “He’s one of them.”

            “It’s cool, Cero.” Nina calmed him down. “Put the blade away.”

            “He’ll have us deported or worse.” Cero cried urging the rest to take his side. “You brought an outsider to our sanctuary, you know the rules Nina. We have to kill him.” Xi stepped back with arms up, pleading for his life.

            “No one is killing anyone,” Nina replied as she stood in front of Xi, “Put that blade away! He’s harmless, he won’t go to the authorities. He’s chill, be chill Cero.” She then turned to Xi ignoring the sharp blade aimed towards her, “You won’t have us arrested for being in our own land, would you?” She asked Xi.

            Xi looked around, feeling cornered to a wall. “It’s my duty to keep my nation secure from illegals.” Three other guys blocked Cero from killing Xi on the spot while Nina remained facing him. “Your people lost this land, and like the natives, you are no longer welcomed in it.” He paused as he felt the group side with Cero. “Nina, you must understand, please don’t let them kill me. You’ll be charged with murder, if deportation is not enough to lock you away.”

            “You know what,” Nina began, “For a Scholar, you sure are ignorant. How can you be enlightened with wisdom and still hold a mentality to that of a bigot? We aren’t dangerous people, Xi, we are simply born in a time where our kind crawl in the mud while your people walk on silk air. Scholars were meant to improve this world not ruin it. I may not have been well educated but I at least know when someone is wrong.”

            “Nina, please.” Xi plead.

            “You want to know where we live?” Nina asked. “We live in a third world country where there is hardly any food to eat. We live in a rape culture society where it is socially acceptable to take any woman any man wants. We live where people are bred to work and not live. Is that what you want for us, for me?” Nina locked eyes with Xi, “Dig deep in that enlightened mind of yours and ask yourself who the real bad guys are.”

            “Your people took our land, our freedom,” Cero added, “You took our rights!”

            “Then leave. We took only what belonged to us to begin with.” Xi defended himself and the honor of his people. “Asia invested heavily in America expecting to receive the same generosity. We were patient but never received recognition. Your president declared war over us, if you remember correctly. We might have not started the war but we sure as hell finished it, honorably.” Xi turned to Nina in hopes of her seeing his perspective.

            “You’re standing on a thin wire Xi,” Nina replied, “Don’t forget where you stand. Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe seeing you hold the history of my people in your hands made me see the good in you but now I see you are just like them, a sheep reaching the peak of faux-enlightenment; all the while denying the existence of others. People like you don’t deserve a place in this world and we are here to make sure of that.”

            Nina sent her dogs against Xi. The others let Cero go so he could do his duty. Motanos was a secret spot unknown by the Asian authorities where illegals seek refuge from their starving crumbling country. Nina and her gang were the rebels the authorities placed a bounty on. Nina and her gang were the few who threatened the Asian reign in the western world. They were the people Xi’s emperor sought as weak and unworthy. Xi would later know the misery and pain of the American fallout as Cero took his blade and sought justice for his people.

A World of Color

            The answer was no before she could finish. The investors said it could never be done but she dare to defy their odds. They threaten her career, her and the future of her family. The recruiters rejected the possibility but their doubts were merely their own. No, over a million times, was the message she received across the monitor without ever meeting face to face. No was her answer before asking the question. “They reject only who they fear,” and fear was the right choice for them to dwell on for no dream was worth the paper work. So, their answer remained constant. Their word was final, no.

            She was persistent, determined to walk the path they set before her. The path she was never meant to pave, though a Texan always sets the trend. She, of native descend, rose to the occasion only to remind the nay-sayers of whose land they thrive on. She, of native blood whose father an African American civil rights lawyer and mother whose tribe stems at the sole of the old America, stood alone in a state full of hacking thieves masked as activist. One brave African American Native woman challenged their amendments and called for a better government for she has seen enough corruption in the inheritance her people lost.

            Eon Blackmore, against all odds ran for president in a nation crumbling from within. No more would her land whiter. No more would she stand in silence as her people be reserved the rights they rightfully deserve. Blackmore ran on an empty ballot. Many annexed the idea of a native for a president, let alone an African American woman but what better choice did the nation gain to lose? Another liar? A suitable corporate mouthpiece puppet? Even she knew how lost the American officials were. Why else would they be keen on monitoring the public, thirsty for a guide?

            “We see not in black and white.” Blackmore began as the United States watched the presidential debate unravel. The crowd chattered in the background as they voiced their discriminatory opinions towards a woman for a president while she spoke. Eon wondered corner to corner, hearing the denial in their tone. Her color counted against her. Her background failed her as well but she hoped somewhere out there would be someone like her. Someone who shares her optimism for a better solution. Someone who sees not in black and white but in color.

            “We lived not as separate but as equals.” She raised a hand, gesturing unity and prosperity in a divided nation. She did everything she could to make them realize her dream. Like an artist stroking a brush to paint a picture, she moved corner to corner; connecting with the distant voter. Sharing of a world where there are no borders, no weapons and no evil. “We long for a paradise to grace us from the heavens. We pray for a deliverer, a unifier, to shepherd us to a promise land and though we are divided, we dream the same dream.” She looked beside her opponents and paused.

            “I am not your deliverer.” Blackmore continued as the room fell silent. “Nor will I promise you a promised land because we have forgotten that we are living in this paradise we long for. We lost our way somewhere and have forgotten earth was that Promise Land. As former governor of Texas, I have done everything in my power to keep my services for and to the people.” She turned to the crowd once more, “We stand here before the American body debating over whose more fit to run this nation when there are far more issues at hand.”

            “We criticize each other over whose administration is more corrupted than the other then question why our young voters don’t vote.” She addressed the nation through the watchful lens, “People know if no one voted, America would still have a president. Our young voters steer away from the ballot booths because they know how corrupted their politicians are. The voters are wise beyond our officials lie. They don’t praise us for our humanitarian services, they damn us for limiting their rights; denying them their freedom.”

            “You may not know what my fellow colleagues you see here standing before you hidden agenda may be,” she ended her speech searching for a spark among the crowd, “But you can rest assure you will know mine.” The other politicians smirked while applauding her stance. A small crowd cheered and chanted her name in unison while waving her flag, her symbol. Tall wide screens mounted behind them televised the woman who dare defy her officials in a time when evil prevailed, but who’s to say they never did?

            Once the debate was settled and the crowd had dispersed, Eon escaped the public eye to enter a small convention isolated from common people. She invited a group of private wealthy investors to extend the presidential debate behind closed doors. Through the course of her political career, Blackmore had devised a scheme to purge the world of all evil. The xenophobic discrimination and bias she encountered as a native woman the past fifteen years were hard to swallow. She could not believe the extent of her corrupted colleagues and the horror they’ve commented in the name of their liberty and justice.

            The private figures she called forth were the victims of hate crime. These prominent aristocrats were wrongfully discriminated by the Arian community simply because of the color of their skin. They have been restricted, deprived, of their future forced to succeed under their Arian shadows. Blackmore took these victims of injustice and gave them a voice. She gave them hope, a light at the end of the tunnel; a prosperous future.

            As the last guest settled in their seats, Eon stood behind a small podium and waited. She looked them square in the eye and felt their pain, their scars. She noticed the history of oppression marked in their faces left by their righteous Arian heroes. “Brothers, sisters,” she called them, “How long must we stand and watch our race be oppressed by the white powers that be? How many of our people must die before we say no more? History tells of heroes who rose against the status quo only to be beaten or killed.”

            “There once lived a man who had a dream,” she commented, “And that man died in vain, why? Because he was African American? Because he was a reverend? More and more, we hear of law enforcement targeting people of color, discriminating the colored skin unjustifiably. More and more, we see the front page news glorify their acts of service, oppressing the world of the Arian nuisance because that’s all we are to them. ‘You only succeed in life if you’re white,’ according to who? These Anglo-Saxon oppressors? If that’s the new way of life in this modern age, then I have no remorseful regret over what I’m about to propose.”

            “Ladies, gentlemen, let’s go back in time,” she proclaimed, “And recall one man’s journey to establish a nation where succession is achieved by the will of one race.” Questionable remarks appeared before her guests as they began to connect the dots. Surely she wasn’t suggesting what they had in mind. “Let’s fully analyze his accomplishments and try to decipher where he went wrong and where we can succeed from his mistake.” Few of her guest abruptly stood from their seats and attempted to leave.
            “Preposterous!” They called as they made their exit. “He was insane. We won’t be any better than them. This is maddening!”

            “Statistics say white people are more prone to oppress than any other race.” Eon stated. “No other race has a history of oppression like the Anglo-Saxons. That man may have been insane, but so are our officials. They are no better than them, in fact they are worse; they are American. That man did not die in vain because his legacy reigns supreme as the American dream. People have grown tired of the Arian oppression. They have become wise to their propaganda. People want peace, freedom, justice!”

            “And what about what they want?” One asked.

            “We know what they want.” Eon answered. “They want the world for themselves while the rest of us simply want our share of peace. How long did the African American stay a slave before they finally mustered the courage to stand up against their masters? How much blood was slaughtered before the natives were forced to cave to the white devil? Most of all, who is to say their oppression will never end?”

            “Why?” Another asked. “Why specifically them? How do you plan on achieving this without suspicion?”

            “Because only they turn brother against brother, sister against sister.” Eon replied. “All can be accomplished. As I mentioned before, gathering them won’t be a challenge. I myself have carefully studied Hitler’s steppingstones. We will succeed where he could not because we won't operate like they did. There are ways to go about things, that is where we will succeed where others could not.” Her guests turned to one another, tentatively listening for their rapture.

            Weeks turned to months and a year had passed before Eon could see her revelation grow. Diving into the root of all evil was no picnic. Money was her only obstacle, luckily she utilized her connections to her advantage. It began with the purchase of a hundred thousand acres deep in the heart of America. Construction work soon followed as she began to build a promised land for her Arian brethren. A town where no crime is committed, where there are no borders and no laws. Just a simple obligation for its residence to maintain, unity and prosperity.

            This is the world they want, and so, they shall get. Once the perfect town was completed, Eon made sure certain people knew where to go and how to get there. With the aid of Eon’s administration, this lonely peaceful town soon came alive with the sound of merriment. Its monotone residence lived happy among one another. No crime was ever announced on the evening news. No deaths were accounted other than the dying old and no horror was ever recorded. Peace and prosperity was dealt with a heavy hand, unbeknownst to the residents.

“Welcome!” Billie greeted the new arrivals. A moving truck parked in the street closed the driveway to a recently vacant home down the neighborhood. “We have been getting new neighbors lately,” Billie commented as she handed her new neighbor a homemade banana bread with double fudge brownies on the side. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to the last owners who lived here, but they travel a lot.” She mentioned a couple had moved into another vacant house down the corner and how mysteriously they too left without saying a word. “News must be spreading, huh.”

“News?” her new neighbor replied.

“Yes,” Billie exaggerated, “Manor Estate is relatively new, it’s been about two to three years since they opened this part of town and it looks like they're constructing more town homes over by the hills. My husband and I were a bit skeptical when we first moved here but this town has it all. There aren’t any hoodlums in this neighborhood I’ll tell you that. I can’t recall the last time I locked my front door without worrying whether or not my things are secured.” Billie laughed while she waved to a passing car.

“Really?” her neighbor added. “That seems too good to be true.”

“Oh stop,” Billie teased, “You’re sounding like one of those paranoid journalist out looking for a story to exploit.”

“I am a journalist,” she answered, “I’m more aware than paranoid though.”

“I’m sorry,” Billie confessed. “I didn’t mean to offend you doll.”

“No, don’t sweat it.” She laughed. “I’ve been told worse.”

“I didn’t get your name.” Billie mentioned.

“Jolin.” She introduced herself. “So you leave your doors unlocked?”

“We all do.” Billie proclaimed. “You see those lamp posts?” She pointed to the corners of the neighborhood, “They’re rigged with motion sensors that record live feed and sound. In color too! Keeps the neighborhood safe. I’m telling you Jolin, you have died and gone to heaven and the best part is you’re still alive to experience it. Night guards patrol the neighborhood streets once the sun sets until morning of course. You’d be a fool to try to break that peace. No one has tried though because we don’t have to. This town has no laws but one simple obligation, we take care of each other.”

Billie lingered around Jolin’s lawn before she went back to her home to prepare a feast for her loving husband. All evening Billie waited as the bread winners returned home after a long day at work. The neighborhood streets came alive with busy motors and cheerful kids. She had noticed Jolin seemed suspicious but in time she would drop her guard and come to realize Manor Estate was the place to be, as she had once done.

“How was your day?" Billie’s husband, Connor, asked once he arrived late in the hours of night. “What did you cook, it smells delicious?”

“I made some banana bread and brownies for our new neighbors.” Connor looked surprised. “I know, the Masons left as well and already people are flocking here like there’s an apocalypse to avoid.” They both laughed for they were too mesmerized, entranced, by the Promised Land that is Manor Estate. "Word must travel fast, I just hope we don’t get bad seeds. We left the city for that reason.”

“Don’t you worry you’re precious little head,” her husband assured her, “This place only shelters decent honest people like us. That’s why we got that letter, because we abide by the rules and pay our taxes. That’s enough on that, it’s only but a distant nuisance now.” He pulled up Billie’s seat, then made his way to the head of the table. They said their grace before eating. Together, they ate in peace while soft classic traditional melodies pranced above their heads.

As they said their goodnights, Billie and Connor rested in their king size bed while the house began to operate. Hidden cameras in every corner of the house monitored their location. The wall beside their bed post began to emit soothing waves, pushing them further into a deep sleep. For the first time, their doors locked; including their windows. Slowly, their vents began to pump toxic airless fumes into their oxygen, killing Billie and Connor in their sleep. The house killed its residents and disposed of their bodies soon after.

The drawers emptied as their clothes slid down a hidden tunnel that led to the trash. Their pictures and frames were knocked down, disappeared in the floor boards that had mysteriously opened. The house itself cleaned out all remnants of its host as it prepared to shelter a new wholesome family. The night guard outside whistled silently as he patrolled the streets. He turned to the new vacant house and questioned when the new owners would arrive.

The following day, Jolin stepped outside to greet her enthusiast neighbor but she never came out. She noticed their trash bin was out in the drive way though the trash didn't get picked up until the end of the week. “It’s only Tuesday.” She told herself as she unknowingly approached their small picket fence. Jolin peeked inside and noticed the house seemed empty. You’re doing it again, she thought. A month without snooping, she reminded herself, it’s why we’re here. “Try to relax.”

All evening, Jolin waited on the patio for her neighbor, to greet, but no one came out. She waited until the sun set. “Jolin?” Rex, her husband, called in the shadows. “What are you doing outside? It’s late, let’s go inside.” Jolin woke to find her husband returning from work. She startled herself as she realized she had dozed off in the afternoon, waiting for her neighbor to greet. As they made their way inside, Jolin peeked one last time and noticed nothing had changed. The house next door stood silent, dark and empty.

“What were you doing?” He asked as they made their way to their room.

“I was waiting for the neighbor but she never came outside.” Jolin explained. “I don’t think they ever stepped outside. I think they left. The house looks vacant, all the lights are off. Do you suppose something happened to them?” She stood by their window and felt a slight chill crawl up from behind her. Her gears began to move, her thoughts raced as her imagination led her wondering the worst.

“Stop,” Rex replied, “You’re going to give yourself a migraine again.” He handed her two pills and a glass of water. “Here, take this. I’m pretty sure there’s a perfectly good explanation, just don’t get carried away.” He stood by her as she took the pills and swallowed the water. “They’re probably off to their parents or they went on a vacation, you know like we did.” Jolin stayed by the window overlooking their lawn across the field to an empty house where life once lived. He massaged her shoulders and embraced her worries. “They’re fine. Everyone’s fine. We live where there is no evil, try to remember that. Okay?”

Jolin smiled and dropped the subject. Once they settled in their beds, Jolin’s mind began to trace back her conversation she had with Billie. Not once did she mention a trip or give a hint that they were planning to leave. As a matter of fact, Billie loved her home. Why would they leave, Jolin asked herself. Suddenly, a light appeared before her. Jolin remembered Billie informing her of her unlocked doors. She turned to her husband who was sound asleep and kissed him goodbye.

She crawled her way downstairs and out through the back. The night was cold and silent. No sirens echoed in the distance. No screams of trouble lingered in the air. The town was at peace, sleeping in their perfect homes. Jolin made her way to her neighbors home, careful not to make a sound. She peeked into their window and noticed the house lay vacant. No pictures, Jolin noted, No sign of anyone. She checked inside the garage and noticed there were no cars either. “Where did you go?” Jolin whispered.

Off in the distance, the night guard whistled casually as he made his rounds. Jolin hid behind a bush as the guard flashed his light around. Once he turned the corner, she made her way to the backyard and proceeded to enter the house. Jolin grabbed the door knob and entered. The house smelled cleaned, though no presence were felt. But where could they be?

Jolin made her way into the kitchen. She opened the drawers and pantry to find them all empty, no food or utensils. Slowly, she moved into the empty living room. The furniture lay as it should but no pictures decorated the lonesome room. No sign of life recorded the people who resided in this house, where Billie and her husband once lived. Jolin’s suspicion became alarming as she ventured further into her neighbors home.

Up the stairs and down the hall, the master bedroom stood deserted. Jolin opened the door to find the bed made and empty. She slid the dresser and found no clothing, no nightstand decked in murals or books. Jolin stood in the dark as her mind conjured conspiracies to the whereabouts of her missing neighbor. She quietly went downstairs, exited through the back from where she entered and made her way back to her home. As she lay next to her husband, her mind began to question everything. Where could they have gone? What could have happened? How?

Jolin would never get her answers. She mysteriously fell into a deep slumber. The doors locked and once more the toxic airless fumes pumped into the air vents, killing Jolin and Rex on impact. Like before, the house began to clean itself. It emptied the dressers, disposed of the bodies and cleared the room for the new arrivals. Jolin and a few other homes were now open ready to shelter a new family.

Eon and her administration kept a close eye on their residence. With the advancements technology kept producing, ridding the world of all evil became a simple task. Gathering evil was no greater feat, nor was it to rid the evidence. More and more people kept flocking to the heart of America for their share of peace. With each coming arrival, new families were gassed, killed, and disposed; leaving plenty of room for more to come. Eon’s revelation was a success, the rapture came only to those who deserved it. Only to those whose history of oppression is seen as a divine act for some God.

Eon Blackmore was never inaugurated as president. She never made headline news as the first native African American woman candidate for presidency. The media never depicted her as a hero, a legend, for her name would never go down in history; nor would she want to. Winning was never her main objective because winning is where they went wrong. Having her name go down in history would have exposed her ulterior motive to purge the world of all its evil.

Eon Blackmore had far more greater schemes in mind. Their demons were no match for her Satan. Their oppression was merely her validation for the new holocaust that would soon take its place in the history of modern times. The Arian race, the Anglo-Saxon oppressors, were long gone by the tenth year. The world spun ignorant to the slaughter of a single race. The only ones who knew, who grew suspicion in sight, were found and gassed. History would never mourn the loss of one race as the others prospered in a world of color.