Liberty Fights Back at the Capital

by | January 2021 B (Day 2)

I felt like my heart would crack my ribs and I was wheezing like a MF after scaling the walls to the Capital…omg! I need my inhaler! Where the fuck is it?…patting down the multiple pockets in my tactical gear. At last! I took two quick puffs and tried to clear my mind to slow my breathing despite the cacophony around me— cries of “Hang Mike Pence”, “Get Pelosi”, “Drain the swamp!”, flash-bangs, the crack of banners slapping the air, the crash of glass as the patriots broke through the windows and began pouring into the building like a hydra on the attack. Why the hell am I here, I thought peeping in after the beast had broken into multiple packs in celebratory anticipation of victory—hopefully bloody—over their traitorous elected leaders. After all we ARE the real patriots and we know we got screwed over by election fraud and our man was cheated and he’s god’s gift to the United States of ‘Merica and he said we are special and he loves us so we are right to take our country back.

Still why the fuck was I here—a sixty-year old asthmatic with a heart condition to boot? Don’t make much sense. Maybe I thought I would lose respect of my friends and they would think I was one of those damn bleeding-heart liberal Demoncrats or Communist. Or worst of all and more simply: a pussy. I had lost track of my neighbor a while back. My phone pinged cuz he sent me a selfie of him sitting in the Speaker of the House’s chair.

Douche! I thought. Rub it in that I’m still outside. I’ll admit I’m a little scared to go in. I ran around to another window to watch the mayhem. My automatic was still slung from my shoulder although I didn’t see any patriots being shot or arrested… then again I realized there are no black people here. They were smart.

The Rotunda seemed to suddenly empty and I saw that a huge trap door had opened and those that had not fallen in were trying to keep their balance and hug the wall to get to an exit. Their escape became even more desperate as the floors had become slippery when water began to cascade out of the paintings and the statues of George Washington, Abe Lincoln, Eisenhower, US Grant and Alexander Hamilton stepped down from their plinths and started hurling the patriots into the abyss. Statues all over the building apparently had come to life –many were Indian chiefs and were armed with spears or tomahawks. And they weren’t messing around. They were throwing those patriots every which way before carrying them to the Rotunda pit to add them to the howling throng below.

About the time I told myself OK you done seen enough of this crazy and being smart doesn’t mean I’m chickenshit. I was ready to leave when a battalion of very pissed off black transwomen appeared. They had banners: Trans Lives Matter! Black Lives Matter! Black Trans Lives Matter. They were all ages and colors and had risen from their graves to fight for “justice and liberty for all” They were calling bullshit on this “patriot revolution”. And they didn’t need guns! Those white men that had not been knocked senseless by the statues representing the heroes of America’s past or hadn’t been swept away by the flood and washed down the drain were much fewer. Those women– why they gave that sideway look at those men and they knew it was over. I was glad that I was a chicken. That mob of sad and angry ghosts walked up and took those automatics and every other weapon out of those mens’ hands and stripped them down of any other weapons. Several tried to say something but a beautiful Amazon held up her hand and shook her head NO. I saw my neighbor across the room—truly looking pathetic and terrified but still alive. He was the first one to notice. I had laid down my weapons and crept closer to the window. He patted his crotch—and nothing. I could see his eyes widen and he screamed like a little girl as he understood! Every man left standing suddenly felt an absence between their legs. And there you go, said the ebony beauty who led the army. You are cursed as eunuchs now. Forever more dickless, no-ball losers who stood behind your flags and guns to give you courage to attack your own government and to speak hate. The floor of the Rotunda closed, the watery paintings dried up, statues returned to their plinths and were only statues again. A clatter of Trump 2020, confederate, and Nazi flags as they were thrown to the floor in despair and the sobbing of the survivors were the only sounds now coming from the Capital.

One of the ghosts winked at me as that beautiful army left the Capital. I felt my crotch and winked back. Don’t make us come back up in here, she said. They began to float away like smoke but their banners floated a few seconds longer before landing on the Captital steps.

6 Comments

  1. Emily Bertholf

    I laughed when the heroes and statues and water started coming. Had that cliffhanger moment – the flood, the Capitol turns into an amusement ride gone wildly hexed, what’s going to happen to then? Eunuchs were not on my radar. “Don’t make us come back up in here…” great voice! That was my favorite line. Brave of you to tackle this. Bravo.

  2. Dominique Christina

    I appreciate you trying your hand at this particular writing prompt. I didn’t identify with your protagonist but I’m not meant to. Faulkner wasn’t talking to me either. I still appreciate how he wrote things. The idea of the rioters being thwarted by the combination of ghosts and activists who represent populations that are among the most assailed was an interesting touch as well. I have walked into capitol buildings and court houses and been almost assaulted by the strong and unshakable feeling that they are haunted, spirit-walloped places. Which is why the insurrection at the Capitol felt almost karmic to me. You seem to be drawing from a similar assessment here in terms of the kinds of heroes that come to save the day in this story. Thank you for sharing. <3

  3. Karen Schauber

    If only! (I wasn’t sure where you were going, and recoiled at the repeated mention of ‘patriots’, but felt vindicated with ‘Every man left standing suddenly felt an absence between their legs. And there you go’ ——as simple as that.) Now if you can whip up something for the reprobate in charge.

  4. Chelsea Stickle

    I loved when things took a mystical turn! The empty Rotunda! The pit! The water! Damn, reading about consequences, even in fiction, feels nice.

  5. Martha Jackson Kaplan

    Rhyannon, “Don’t make us come back up here.”––Bless your heart, may it end this way! Thanks for this story, well needed at this moment, and I applaud what it takes to put yourself into the head of those I assume are not your favorite “heroes.” Though I’m not the best judge of what’s inside those heads, it read true to me. And those ghosts! Let’s do some conjuring this week. Thanks again.

  6. Rhyannon Brightwater

    Amen! Let the conjuring begin! I ended up with one more short story based on the IF/THEN exercise. I hope you enjoy it. its for my santa fe fantasy story.

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