Aggression

1988

“At-Large” the poster said. The poster depicted a man with a large bushy mustache and a prideful crane in his neck, the smirk showed a subtle warmth and a subtle disposition.

It was Stalin.

The poster was red and black and Stalin was shown with a sickle slicing through the White House and below that the poster read “THIS IS THE THREAT”. I stood outside the corridor which led to the room where all the sessions were held about the so called Matters of Freedom. That was the new slogan since Reagan was shot dead by Hinckley, posters strung up and plastered over the old ones much like the missing posters downstairs in the lobby where a line snaked out like a daunting idea of “Freedom” and the people coughed and cried while they waited hoping that the Freedom might come into play. I sipped out of flask and watched the simple shells of men pass by me dressed in suits all suggesting their matters of freedom as they made their way to the session and I supposed I should probably join them before I get caught in the next wave of drone like senators. I moved with haste into and through the crowd, my footsteps blending into the clamour of men and shoes on the reflective floor. I cast my nonchalant gaze to the room numbers as I passed the three digit numbers in the sort of slow motion that these crowds move in looking for my designated room. Some of the rooms I passed had been blocked off labeled “Inaccessible” but I didn’t think much of it, it had been happening a lot recently. Heated shouting could be heard in the corridors ahead and rapid footsteps and murmuring as a man ran through the intersecting halls and the militants chased him down with there hands on their guns and batons above their heads.

This was fairly common, one piece of the snake outside would break off and he or she would run inside with a rusted old knife or sometimes even a rock to try and attack the nearest caseworker he or she could find. The militants would do their best to not kill the vagrants but it ended that way all too often for those who decided to thrust themselves into the sea of men. A few moments later gunshots would be heard then reported then cleaned as if nothing had ever happened.

I found my assigned room and went inside to take a census of the room. The room reeked of coffee and bad breath and every once in awhile you’d catch the sting of cigarette smoke seeping into your nostrils as you found your seat. I was positioned towards the top of the room where all the desks surrounded me giving the room a feeling of claustrophobia on top of the obvious suited hatred that dwelled within every man in the building including myself. The raised pictures of Reagan hoisted on poles much like the banners seen in the photo’s of Nazi Germany roughly fifty years ago, across Reagan’s forehead there were the words in the this formation

LIBERTY

FREEDOM

AGGRESSION

These were ideas he instilled in the public to not only hate the commies but make us abhor them with such a passion we felt the obligation to seek a form of twisted retribution against them to seek aggression. This was what the man who brought us “Bedtime for Bonzo” also wound us so tight that even saying the word red wrong bought you some wariness and perhaps even what we wanted the most, aggression. The banner of Reagan cast its majestic gaze down on the many men in the room as they continued to file into their seats. I had already done so and I remained seated as the mean at the very bottom of the auditorium continued to stare at us with a blank, fabricated faces all of them smoking and all of them wearing the new “LIBERTY FREEDOM AGGRESSION” bands around their arms, also suspiciously questionable but in time would be accepted; matter of fact I’ll most likely be wearing myself by the end of the week.

The shuffling of the auditorium came to a halt at the sight of George H.W Bush, he walked out and stood there a moment as the crowd all remained frozen and Bush looked over them, he then straightened his stance and quickly slapping his hand over his heart. The entire crowd myself included did as he. We stood there a moment as he stared at the American flag which resided to his left then he dropped his hand and took a seat in the middle of the long table that occupied the bottom area of the auditorium. The room returned to its original chaotic order of talking and drinking and smoking and swearing, I stayed seated, watching as the so called session played out its first few moments. I faint sound of welding was heard out in the corridor directly outside, I assumed they had deemed another room “Inaccessible” or something of the sort. I watched the room settle down into a final conclusion as the session began, a fat bald man stood up and spoke.