This story deals with Mature Themes and Subject Matter.
By Paul Riches
“So what do we have here? They are once again pillorying you into submission with their non-sensical rules. This latest affront to God and nature and the Constitution is a new authority which will enable the Government to enter your home, your abode, your hard earned castle, with no warrant or rule of law. The dictatorial mafia that lords itself over us will soon barge down your door, slap on the handcuffs and ankle bracelets, and slam you into a windowless cell. Your crime you ask? Your transgression against civilized society? You voted. But not for whom you should have. How dare you exercise your free will? That is your cross to bear. And they will make you pay for it!”
Looking straight into the camera, sounding like a smooth voice of reason, is an older man impeccably dressed in a dark suit. His cheeks are skinny and sunken in, pulling attention slightly from large round wire frame glasses that make his eyes look wider. Grey hair is desperately combed forward in an attempt to obscure a receding hairline. This subterfuge is noticeable to anyone and everyone who looks for more than a second, but is never raised as an issue. He finishes his point with a jab of the finger towards the audience who exist somewhere beyond him. Grabbing the papers on the news desk and straightening the pile, he turns in his chair and faces the other camera.
“All this time and effort to strip you of your liberties and conscript you, body and soul, into the New World Order. You think they would focus even a small bit of their tyrannical efforts into solving some the real problems that plague and pillage our daily life. For instance, we have mentioned here multiple times about the mind controlling chemicals they are pushing and shoving and smashing into our water supply. Our in depth investigative reports have unveiled the foreign nationals involved with this travesty. Now we have almost confirmed a fourth, yes a fourth, entity from beyond our borders, who are actively participating in this vile experiment. Next week, right here at this very desk, we shall provide the conclusive proof of this unholy conspiracy. Now that may sound like a dangerous proposition, but we want to make sure we have all the evidence gathered and secure before going public and blowing the lid off this horror show. You may all be concerned for our safety, that we might be tracked down and taken care of, but worry not. Our studio is hidden away and our net address is expertly disguised. They will not find us, those jack booted fascists, because I am Thomas Revere, and we here are strong and true and free!”
He turns back to the first camera, which then zooms in for a close-up. His next words he spits out in defiant pride.
“For WE Are The TRUTH.”
“Cut! Great show Jack. Sydney’s just saving the file now.”
Jack, the man before the camera, the man with the glasses and the disappearing hair, the man who called himself Thomas, stands up carefully from behind the desk.
“Thanks Craig, pretty sure I got them all riled up there at the end. Gonna love seeing the e-mails when this one goes live.”
He does a slow shuffle to finish pulling away from his pulpit. His movements are as precise as can be for someone of his age, but are noticeably practiced. The exact state of the desk, all shiny and light blue on the outside, is held together by duct tape and half bent nails on the inside. This is the necessity of their invention, all effort put into the visible product, with the internals being at most an afterthought.
Jack stops just short of brushing against the backdrop, a large cardboard panel featuring a massive illustration of the United States, topped with a sign emblazoned with the words “The Truth”. A few tiny half steps later and he is out from behind his perch, and with a final hop, he plops off the platform this entire set inhabited.
