My dad is my hero. Everything he is I want to be someday. He is my tower of strength. When I was five my mom died giving birth to my baby sister who only lived for three days. I was absolutely crushed and would have fallen to the dust if my dad hadn't been there. He took me in his arms and promised he would always be there for me. And we cried together.
From that point on, anytime I felt life becoming too much I would think of my dad holding me and I would find the strength to tackle it. I know he will never hurt me and he will never lie to me. When mom tried to tell me about the Easter bunny dad squashed it and did the same when it came to the tooth fairy and Santa Claus. Integrity is his watch word.
We know everything about each other because we always eat dinner together and we share our stories and that includes the news of the day. My dad works as a night watchman and most of his shift is spent watching monitors so he has plenty of time to just listen to talk shows on the radio and various news feeds.
He tells me all about what's happening in the world, especially our country, America. He tells me that we're under attack. Immigrants are raiding our borders and the liberal pussies just want to let them on in. Illegal aliens are leaching off the system and taking our jobs. We're not even allowed to acknowledge Christmas.
The blacks are the absolute worst. Every last one of them is a criminal who is either dealing or has dealt drugs. Worst of all they're trying to dismantle our police force by sending people to die and catch it on camera. It's all part of a wide spreading conspiracy that is being spearheaded by the democrats.
What's more, the one man who could have saved us all and Make America Great Again had the Whitehouse stolen from him and now has to play a minor role. And did we stand by, hell no! We tried to take back the government from the government who were clearly against everything we stand for.
America is bleeding. It's dying and there's only one thing to be done about it. We need to give it a transfusion. A mixture of patriot and coward alike. We will take back our country! We will have our freedom! We will make being white in our country no longer a crime! We will back the blue and take the fight to the streets!
These are the thoughts and ideas that fuel my every waking moment. Even when I'm at school I can think of little else. I see the others in my class. The Mexicans, the blacks, the Muslims, all of the wolves wearing sheep's clothing that infest even our schools. There has to be something I can do.
The solution presents itself when I wasn't even looking for it. I was rummaging around in the upstairs closet, looking for a favorite jacket of mine, when I noticed something black protruding from the highest shelf. I'm too short to reach so I grab the stepstool from downstairs and use it to increase my reach.
I can hardly believe my good luck. I'm looking at a nine millimeter Uzi. I pick it up and like the feel of it in my hand. I wonder if there is more. I take notice of a shoebox sitting on the same shelf. I open it up and find five thirty round magazines sitting empty and three boxes of nine millimeter bullets each holding one hundred rounds.
I place the Uzi in the box, close it up and take it to my room. I set the shoebox down on my bed and take a moment to just stare at it. This is it. The answer to my prayers. God has sent me the weapon of a patriot, to be wielded to Make America Great Again. One where my future children will be able to live and play without fear, like the old days where you could leave your front door unlocked.
I imagine that this weapon was given to my father by a brotherhood who is arming all true Americans for the war we are meant to fight when the time is right. How proud would dad be if I took the fight to our enemies and dealt with them before they could become a proper threat, such an action may even kick off the war, just like the shot heard 'round the world that started the Revolutionary War.
This is to be my gift to my dad who has given me so much. The only problem is I know nothing about the weapon on my bed. Luckily, the internet has all the information I could possibly need. I learn how to disassemble it, clean it, maintain it and how to properly fire it when laying down strafing fire.
Today is the day a new patriot is born. It's a bit warm outside, but I throw on my jacket. I need the deep pocket to house the lower part of my weapon and a hole I cut in the bottom allows for a magazine to be seated and ready to go. A pair of cargo pants gives me ample room for the four other magazines which I place in the left pocket so I can hold the gun in my right. One last thing, I pull back the charging handle and load the weapon. Now, I'm ready.
It's time for school, so I head to my highschool. I know the building inside out. I avoid the front entrance which has a metal detector in place, manned by a security guard. Instead, I round the side of the building and push open the library window which is never locked, or at least it usually isn't, but for some reason, today it is. That's not a problem. I grab a rock and smash it which takes a few hits, but I'm determined to see this through.
The library is empty and dark. A perfect place for me to enter. I exit the entrance and head to my classroom. There is only one entry into the room and three windows which overlook the recess area and we are three stories up. I give a quick look at the people inside. The students are all standing around talking and the teacher is busy at her desk.
I round my way to the other end of the desk, use my full strength to upend the heavy desk, throwing all manner of debris on the floor, and slide the heavy piece of furniture against the door. I've successfully blocked us in. There's a cascade of voices demanding to know what is going on and more than a few phones are employed to capture the moment on video.
I pull out the Uzi and fire a bullet short spray into the ceiling to show how deadly serious I am. I demand that they listen to me and follow my instructions and hold the gun steady as I sweep the room. My instructions are simple, any name I call out will go to the far wall at the back of the room and stand there and it doesn't bother me that I'm still being recorded.
The PA system goes off demanding to know what is going on. I ignore it. I hear someone beating against the door, but the desk does not budge. I add a few bullets for good measure and the banging stops. I then change out the magazine and pocket the used one. My teacher steps into the mix, but stays far enough away that she can't be perceived as a threat.
I inform her in a calm, even voice that she is not in charge at the moment. I rattle off names and each student complies while they continue to film me. Soon the room is separated with all the true Americans standing in front of the windows and all the infiltrators at the other end of the classroom which includes the teacher since she has allowed this mockery of our nation to continue.
The PA goes off and continues to demand to know what is going on. I ignore it. I have successfully isolated us from the outside world. No one on the outside has the means to disrupt my mission and when they finally break down the door it will be too late. I will be bathed in the blood of so-called Americans from other nations.
I see their eyes grow even wider. "It's time to separate the sheep from the goats," I carry on and hold the Uzi steady. "To separate the true patriots who will help to Make America Great Again from the impostors who only want to bring her down."
"This is racist," a student against the back wall declares while still recording with their phone.
"Is it racist to love one's own country?" I posit and keep them in my sight. "Is it racist to pull all of the weeds out of the garden so the flowers can bloom? Is it racist to identify all the troublesome elements in our land that need to be gotten rid of? If so, then I am unashamedly racist, because I love my country and I want to see it thrive."
"So do we," several of the students against the far wall insist and take a step forward.
"You will back up or I will start firing," I warn them with the gun pointed directly at them.
They comply with sour looks on their faces.
"But no, you can't love this country like I do, like a patriot does," I continue undaunted as I lower the Uzi slightly. "You can't love it because, without even knowing it, you are part of a conspiracy to bring her down. It started when your parents decided to give birth to more soldiers for their cause. It's not your fault that you're not part of the solution, but that also means you're part of the problem."
I raise the Uzi to the far left corner and pull the trigger as I strafe the dissidents. It kicks harder than I thought it would and I spray till it runs dry. Not a single student falls. Every single bullet is swallowed up by some swirling purple energy which forms a wall in front of my targets and somehow redirects the bullets into the wall far above their heads.
"I apologize to all of you," a voice speaks from behind me and I turn around to see a man in black clothes with a shadow somehow obscuring his face. "I would have interfered earlier, but my abilities do drain me so."
"Who the hell are you and how did you get in here?!" I demand as I flash a look to the desk that is still firmly blocking the door.
"We need to talk Matthew," he continues on and holds his place.
"Congratulations, you know my name," I respond and hear footsteps starting to shuffle. I spin about, eject the magazine, load a fresh clip and charge the weapon, just as I'd practiced. "You will return to your place or I will start firing and the next time someone steps forward I will not issue a warning."
"You must feel as though you are in control," the stranger remarks and I turn back around.
"Is there a reason I shouldn't?" I challenge him and hold the Uzi steady at his midsection.
"You envision yourself a righteous hammer poised to strike at the decay that infests your beloved nation," he persists and walks around me till he's standing to my side allowing me to keep an eye on him and my classmates and I follow him the whole way. "But a hammer is no good when it comes to clearing decay."
"What would you know about it?" I throw back and level the firearm at his center mass.
"My scope is limited, that I must admit," he angles in and holds still. "But I have seen fanatics before. Their zeal makes them burn brighter than most, but it is that fire that burns them out and ignites the environment around them. They incinerate everything they touch and that includes the things and people they are meant to protect."
I take a hard swallow as I imagine my father burning alive. "What would you have me do?!" I rail on and lower the weapon further to the floor. "The enemy is at the gates! They're beating down the barriers and we can't let them inside! Once we do it's all over! The white man will be torn down from our places and driven into the streets! Our government, the one countless people have fought and died for, will disappear and in its place a communist, puppet regime will be put up that has a direct line to China!"
The room hangs in complete stillness as my statements echo throughout it. "Do you really believe that any of that is going to happen?" he asks with a calm, steady timbre as he reaches out to me. "Life is a state of continuous flux. What is at this moment in control we'll lose it and something else will take its place. Immigrants are no less human than you are. They are people doing what they can to survive. Many of them are refugees trying to leave war zones, only to-"
"Then they shouldn't have wrecked their own countries!" I bark and swat away his hand. "Why should we be forced to deal with them and the children they bring with them?! Why should we be the ones who foot the bill?!"
"There is a great deal you still have to learn, but I'm afraid this venue will not yield the knowledge that you'd be willing to ingest," he admits defeat and returns his hand toward me. "I ask only that you give me the gun and I will help you leave."
This arrogant son-of-a-bitch thinks he knows more than me when it's obvious that he's been sucking on the tit of the liberal pussies. But none of that matters. The only thing that matters now is action and I know exactly what needs to be done. I tighten my grip and spray the back wall with bullets, all of which are blocked from the targets, but I release the trigger before the magazine is empty and redirect the remaining bullets into the stranger.
Three bullets eject from the chamber, travel down the barrel and lodge in his flesh. The first goes right into his thigh. The second slams into his hip The third lodges into his belly. He goes down and hits the floor hard. He's not getting up which means he likely can no longer protect my targets from the righteousness that is coming their way.
There is now nothing to keep me from completing my mission. Nothing to stop me from fulfilling my obligation to my fellow Americans. I whip around, they know what's coming, I grab for the next magazine as I eject the spent one when an explosion knocks me to the floor. Before I know it, several fully armed and armored policemen have the entire room on the floor and are zip tying every one of us.
We're marched through the school in clear view of the mass of students who have left their own classrooms and are recording every step of the procedure. I'm placed into a van which has been modified so there is a clear aisle down the middle with two seater benches to either side, each of which are taken up by my fellow students who stare at me the whole time.
We're driven to the police station, where we are separated and placed into our own, isolated room. I'm cuffed to a table and left by myself for a long time. When the door finally opens it's one man and he introduces himself as a doctor. I'm not hurt, so that can mean only one thing, a shrink.
I start in by asking him if he's here to determine if I'm crazy. He laughs and sits himself down. He sets the five magazines on the table, the loaded ones first then the empty ones. All told I had one hundred and fifty bullets at my disposal. He asks me why I needed so many when my class only held thirty-eight students including myself.
I told him my class was only meant to be the start. He writes something down. He asks me why I had separated my class the way I did. I told him I didn't want to kill true Americans. He writes something down. He asks what I mean by true Americans. I ask if it isn't obvious. He shakes his head. White people I tell him. Who else has bled more for this country and seen to its progress?
He points out that there have been many people, other than white, who have bled for this country and worked for it, with or without their permission. He thinks I'm not ready. If you add up all the patriots who have bled and died for this country white people will outweigh every other group. That's why we deserve to be in control. We paid the price now it's time to accept the reward.
He writes something else down. He asks me about the man I shot. I tell him I'd never seen him before in my life. He asks why I shot him, after all he was white. Apparently his shadow face didn't keep once he was unconscious. I told him he wasn't a patriot regardless of the color of his skin. He asks me what he'd done to become the enemy. I told him he kept me from shooting my targets.
He writes something down. He asks how he accomplished this feat. I tell him he did something to the air which made the bullets disappear and reappear in the wall above them. He asks how this is possible. I tell him I don't know. The conversation continues on and we delve deep into my ideologies.
When we're done the doctor collects the things he placed on the table and prepares to leave. I have one more question. I ask him if I'm crazy. He says I am a rational person who created an irrational situation based solely on the information given to me by my father who in turn got it from another source. I ask him if that means I'm crazy. He says no, I am perfectly sane and that's the problem. He leaves and I am alone again.
The door opens after an extended period of time and my dad walks in. He gives me a hug and I would have hugged him back if my hands weren't cuffed to the table. He takes a seat opposite me. I break down and cry. I apologize over and over for not completing my mission. I tell him I came close, but some otherworldly force stepped in.
He asks me what my mission was. I tell him to purge our great nation of the people who would do it harm. He asks why I targeted my classmates. I tell him to root out the seed of corruption before it has a chance to bud. I was going to do him and our race proud if only that stranger hadn't interfered.
He asks me where I got this idea from. I tell him that he was my source, he and all the news media outlets he listened to were the fuel that lit the fire and even though I failed I was damn proud to have at least tried. And when the white race finally tires of the other, inferior races, they will rise up and on that day they will set me free so I can join in.
A worried expression creases his face. Son, he says, that was just rhetoric. He says, we don't really believe that America is under attack or that it's corrupt to the core. Only the crazies believe that. It just feels that way and feelings are not facts. He thought I understood this. He thought that our talks were just gabbing not sharing information.
My heart sinks in my chest. My ears feel like they're filled with water. My lungs feel like I'm breathing in sawdust. I can't hear what he's saying. I can only see his mannerisms. He goes on for quite some time and every word he speaks makes me feel as though there is a gulf between us that increases with each utterance.
When he leaves he gives me another hug, but I don't even try to hug back. He walks out the door and immediately following his departure two detectives walk through and sit down.
Just like with my father I can't hear a word they are saying. Not until they tell me what I've been formerly charged with: thirty-eight counts of kidnapping and wrongful imprisonment and thirteen counts of attempted murder in the first degree.
I know what's coming. My fellow white men are going to put on a show for the rest of the world to demonstrate that they will not tolerate the attempted execution of children. I have no case. I acted with clarity of mind and conviction of action. But none of that matters to me. The one fact that has me feeling cold from the inside: my dad lied to me.