The glow from the computer screen lit up my face with an eerie blue. I'm going to put my face out there. Again. They'll come for me. Again. At least this time it will be purposeful. My choice, unlike the coffee shop video. Part of me just wanted to slip beneath the radar. To skip town to another city and start over again. It wasn't like I had too much keeping me here. But then I saw Pam's face in the back of my head. I wondered where Nathan and Ava were.
Snake, or as I knew him, Robert, flipped on the recording lights in the bedroom. He had a nice set up in his room; he was a real tech geek. When I first walked into his room to make a plan about recording a video I was stunned, the screens glowed with programs that I could not fathom their use. He had turned them away from me at first, as if I would spill his secrets, but now he leaves them where I can see. I don't know if this is because he trusts me or has come to the conclusion that I don't understand what he does. The only thing Boss and Robert had told me was that he made most of the money for the gang.
"Tell me when, and we'll go live," he said.
I took a deep breath and nodded. The bottom of the screen began counting.
3.2.1.
"Good evening, some of you may recognize my face, others may not. I spoke out of turn and President Persim did not appreciate that. Allow me, a nobody, a low level citizen, to tell you the truth. It is power and greed that motivates our President. A desire to fit the world into the landscaping of her twisted mind, and if you are a weed like me, like so many of us are to her, then she pulls you out by the roots and tosses you aside to shrivel up in the sun, or in the case of many of our citizens to freeze to death in the cold."
"I walk the streets of the poorer end of town. I see no benefit to the Volunteer Tax, only harm. I see corpses frozen with their eyes still open, looking into the cold air for someone to care. I see mothers being turned away at the door, with their arms holding a barely moving child. If the Tax works, it works only in favor of the rich. Yes, there will be more money for schools because the schools for the average citizen and below will be gone. Their students will be a distant memory of a country that did not want to care for those in need. I say this to you now, in hopes the message will get shared. This is a call to action. Stand up against tyranny, and be the citizens I know you are. I hope I will be there to see a country I am proud of, but I can't be sure. My last comments were taken unkindly, and I was taken to a Speakeasy to be murdered under no one else's command except President Persim." I paused for effect.
"There is a branch of these that are run by the government. I've seen the roots of the government weave throughout the poverty stricken when they are desperate. They have been planting the seed of suicide in their minds."
I leaned forward and tapped the space bar to stop the message.
I leaned back in the metal folding chair. "I'm a dead woman," I muttered.
"Not yet," said Robert. He moved from behind the computer to step beside me and give me a side hug. I had the feeling that this "cold hearted" gang member was very flamboyant underneath.
It was a warm day for February. I pulled the faded gray hoodie over my head anyways. It reeked. Robert had been kind enough to give it to me, and it had felt rude to ask if it was clean. I had less than 15 dollars in my pocket. Twelve of them had come from Sam.
We were watching a movie to kill time. The thick blankets over the windows let in very little light, making the perfect theater atmosphere. I sat on a faded blue and green plaid couch when my stomach began rumbling. It did it again, and a third time. Sam paused the movie and looked over at me. His stomach let out a return growl. We didn't think there was any food in the house, and didn't dare ask if there was.
I clenched the bills and change. "You're a beautiful girl," Sam said, "They won't suspect you. If I go...well, I've already been kicked out of every store within a ten mile radius of this house." The plan was to buy something, steal something. Meal for two. I had never stolen anything in my life.
I swallowed down my fear and pushed open the glass door that was plastered with faded fliers.
Ding-dong, the door swung shut behind me. The man behind the counter glanced up from his phone for a split second before returning to the glow. I mulled around the front for a bit before the overcrowded bulletin board caught my eye. A bright green flier on the cork board full of guitar lesson ads and faded lost dog posters.
The Truth About Persim
Rally Saturday
March 1st 5:00 Carter Park.
I stood there pretending to memorize the time and place. My heart beat loudly. This rally would be the start of something big. I knew this sign wouldn't stay up for long, not once the owner saw it. He would take it down in fear, but I wasn't worried. The message was out there, Robert had assured me the information was available and promoted online.
I moved down the aisles, perusing the selection of chips, cheap wine, and candy before making my way towards the unattended deli counter. I grabbed a sandwich, which seemed like the quietest of options. I grabbed a second, sliding it into my oversized front pocket and made my way to the counter. The cashier was watching me now. I could see his hand hovering toward the phone. So I spoke before I got to the register, "Good morning!" I beamed.
"Good morning," he grumbled back.
I laid the sandwich on the counter with the cash on top. "Keep the rest," I said and strolled out.
"Have a good day!" I heard the man say.
I only felt a small twinge of guilt knowing Pathos and Logos were at work, but the hunger in my stomach overpowered it.
The next couple weeks before the rally went by quickly. I spent hours borrowing Robert's computer to research deeper into Persim's policies. With every sentence I read I became more enraged.
Political activists, a term that hadn't been used in this country in years, have been coming out of the woodwork online to spread the videos of my speeches and promote debate. Every social media platform had posts about the issues, although most of the posts were removed quickly. Robert assured me that no one could trace what we posted back to this address, but that did little to calm my nerves. I didn't think Persim would have her people do anything publicly, but that didn't mean someone or something wouldn't follow me back to this address. The fire at The Palace still raged in my mind. Many nights I would wake up in a cold sweat and stare at the popcorn ceiling until my heart stopped racing.
The online world can be a strange thing. At some point the word "debate" began getting thrown around. The comments were far and few between, but about a week ago the idea of a debate picked up speed. Rumors that the president herself would attend the rally were prevalent. There was no way the president was going to actually come to this.
But it was true, a Fox interview confirmed it. President Persim, dressed in all white, said she would make an appearance at this "little" debate. She had a sing-song quality to her voice the whole time she spoke, as if she were placating a child.
I planned what to say with Pathos and Logos coaching me inside my mind as I took notes. Sometimes I would answer them out loud instead of in my head, and Boss or Sam or Snake or whoever was around me at the kitchen table would look at me strangely. I would apologize with Pathos in my voice that I was just a little overwhelmed. They never questioned me.
It was early evening when there were five knocks at the door followed by a sixth a moment later. Boss came through the kitchen and peered through the red blanket over the window. His movements became rapid. The locks flew open on the door, and he swung it open. I looked up from the old, half used notebook that Robert had given me to write information for the debate in. I was sitting crossed-legged on the couch between the mismatched pillows.
Standing in the doorway was Pockets from the night of the fire. Only his hands weren't in his Pockets now. But his hands fidgeted all the same; actually his whole body twitched. He looked thinner and paler, too.
"Oh shit," said Boss, "were you on another binge?"
Pockets didn't respond, but his head nodded once. His eyes were fixed on his shoes. Boss put an arm around Pockets and led him into the kitchen. I sat frozen on the couch. He hadn't even noticed me. I needed to warn Sam. I took a breath and set the notebook off to the side of the couch on the old gray carpet.
It was then that I heard chair legs scraping across the kitchen floor before hitting the ground. I leapt up from the couch and ran to see Sam and Pockets locked in a fist fight.