This Is How (Wednesday Words 11.9.16)

Welcome to a piece of Wednesday Word’s flash fiction on Darkling Dreams!

A good friend of mine, P.T. Wyant, is doing a blog post every Wednesday called Wednesday Words with a new prompt for a bit of flash fiction writing, just to get in the habit of writing something, anything. (Even if said flash fiction is complete garbage at the time. Garbage is better than nothing though, right?) If you’re looking for some inspiration yourself or just something to aimlessly write, then go check out her blog for this week’s prompt!

With that being said, I am going to share what I came up with for this week’s flash fiction Shard based off an occurrence and setting prompt. So here is my very rough around the edges minute of inspiration based off her prompt. I’d love to hear what you guys think of it!

(Please excuse any errors you may see, I said it was rough around the edges.)

DISCLAIMER: This work of fiction holds basis to the results of the Presidential Election. Read at your own risk and be forewarned for 18+ content implied. I respect everyone’s opinion and their right to vote but I will not tolerate any hate or negative comments thrown toward me for what I have written, and what I believe. If you have one, I ask you to please keep it to yourself and stop reading then.

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This Is How

Samantha sat on the edge of her seat as she watched the television screen. The news reporters were droning on and on, results of the closing polls and tallied ballots flitting across the bottom of the screen state by state. She was biting her nails, glued to the TV despite the fear and dread seeping through her being. Tension lined every inch of her body.

It was a nightmare come true. A literal nightmare that she prayed this country would wake up from. She prayed it was all fake what she was seeing on the news and that at the very end of it all they were going to throw a big “April Fool’s!” joke into it.

This country couldn’t really be that blind and ignorant…could it?

Time seemed to stand still around her as the minutes ticked by into hours and each state’s results was posted for the world to see. The joke wasn’t coming though, the gap was growing wider between the candidates.

How? How can anyone who is a decent human being follow the racism and bigotry this man represented?

It baffled her, it scared her.

Downstairs in the basement she could hear her husband and friends jeering and yelling at the TV in their man cave. Inwardly she cringed from noise, glancing back over her shoulder toward the stairs with worry-filled eyes. She knew where her husband stood in this election: on the other side of her, and with his history — an abusive and arrogant history she tried to hide from the world behind makeup and lies — she feared for her future.

She feared for everyone’s future, for the future of this country.

“Make America Great Again.”

No… He should have made his campaign slogan “Make America Backtrack”.

He wasn’t going to make America great again, he was going to destroy it. The hatred and egotistical nature he radiated made her sick. They had started to come so far as a nation in the past eight years, had accomplished milestones, and this man was going to tear it all away in a matter of a year. Not even that long. Everything they had worked so hard and fought so long to build was going to be blown to smithereens.

“The results are in.”

The voice of the news reporter pulled her attention back to the television. She sucked in a breath, praying it wouldn’t be so. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair until her knuckles were white. The world froze around her in those final few moments, growing completely silent.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your 45th President of the United States of America is Donald Trump.”

A whimper left her mouth, her head hanging as real horror and terror descended upon her. She was sure there were many others out there feeling the same fear she felt, their just hadn’t been enough of them in this country.

A country that had gone to Hell.

The sounds of her husband and his friend’s grew in volume from downstairs. They were celebrating, and she was weeping. How could she raise her child in a world that supported this man? Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash and before she could think of what she was doing, she got up and rushed down the stairs, fearing they had broken the glass table in their drunken states.

When she got to the bottom of the stairs she stopped, slowing as she looked around. A lamp had been knocked over, but her heart had skipped more when the four of them turned quiet to see her. All of their gazes were on her with an animalistic hunger, like they had a given right to own her person. She backed up a step, putting her hand on the railing.

“Well, hello baby,” John slurred, smiling at her with lust. “Did you hear the news? Come here, don’t go running away now.”

Sam shook her head slowly, her stomach dropping out. Her eyes flicked over her shoulder back up the stairs and she gasped when she felt an iron grip clasp over her wrist. He reeked of alcohol and sweat, John’s body pressing against hers suddenly. A repulsive shiver wound down her spine when he trailed a thumb down her cheek and smelled her hair.

“Now be a good girl and join the celebratory party, baby. It’s just us.” He pulled her roughly into the man cave toward the couch.

She watched with tears in her eyes as one of his buddies got up and went up the stairs, closing and locking the basement door, sealing them in together. She regretted coming down here now, she should have gathered her child and the packed bags she had hidden in the attic and left. She had known this would happen, but she had nowhere to go, and no one to help if she had left.

John roughly turned her chin up to meet his eyes. The smile on his face disgusted her, made her skin crawl. She feared for her life. This was how it had started before. This was how history happened before. She could see it now with this election, the pages of textbooks in years to come being written of history repeating itself because this world did not learn from its mistakes of hatred and persecution.

“We’re only getting started, baby.”

Sam swallowed hard and closed her eyes. He was right, they were only getting started. Their country was doomed.

Welcome to the making of the 2nd Holocaust. Welcome to the start of what could be the first Purge. Welcome to the 75th Hunger Games, America.

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