If I've Said It Once...

...I'm pretty sure I still couldn't find it in the search results.

I think I've written this blog before. In fact I'm almost 100% certain I've written it before. But I can't find it in my search so I'm writing it again. Because it's still bothering me so even if I have written it before I haven't cleared it all the way out of my head.

So here we go.

Don't take advantage of my good nature.
Don't be a dick to the people I love.
Don't play me for a fool.

Unless you want me to make that face whenever your name is mentioned. Or you want me to tell people the reason why you were taken off of my friend list. Or you want me to treat you as if you do not exist.

Then go on ahead and do those things.

The "On This Day" feature can be really fun or it can make you just shake your head. Today it's a shake my head day. Reading a "discussion" with someone who has since been kicked from my friend list and being reminded once again that they were never ever acting in good faith. They weren't interested in having discussions about differing points of view or expanding their understanding of what other people thought or even trying to see if they could instill a little understanding of their points of view in others. It was just trolling.

Putting out arguments just to argue.

Amazon.com arguing when they started to lose. (Other people who are making the argument you are making have made this argument which I am more likely to win so let me switch)

Taking advantage of my better angels.

Which makes my greater demons come out.

Because I've worked to make sure that I am a decent human being. I let go of the things that I held when I was younger that were making me bitter. I don't like to be like that. I want to meet people and assume they are good people. If someone says something that can be taken in one way that is bad and another way that is good I want to assume they didn't mean the bad. I want you to be acting in good faith when you engage with me in a discussion.

BUT...I'm also pretty observant. I pick up on patterns. I see what and where you are commenting and I see where things are going. Or what you are really doing. I think most people who write can do that. You have to be able to predict human nature if you are going to write convincing characters.

So I was shaking my head today because I really let this person hang around for much too long. I talked myself out of dumping them. Oh they are lonely. Oh they need someone to give the other side of the argument. Oh they are really just looking for information.

Oh, fuck, they were just an asshole all along and you let them be for way too long.

................

Okay, real time attitude shift.

Right before that break the dryer buzzed and it was time to shift laundry around. So I set this aside and went upstairs to take care of that. I'm missing a washcloth. Brent washed towels yesterday and we didn't fold them before bed so I folded them as I started laundry today. The bath sheets and the hand towel came out of the dryer but not the washcloth. I figured that meant the washcloth got stuck to the side of the washer and would end up coming out in the next batch from the dryer. Nope. Not there. So somewhere I've lost a washcloth. Which made me think of a friend of mine who posts about the random things her dryer eats. Mostly socks, but sometimes whole outfits will disappear. The vortex of the dryer.

Then I thought of another friend who could spin a story out of that idea. The dryer as a portal to another realm. The things that disappear are being stolen as supplies.

Then I thought, oh wait, no, that's a story you would write and make your friend read. I get us confused...

And then I realized that I wasn't as angry as I was when I was writing. Which, of course, makes sense, I was focusing on other things. Because that's who I am. You know I like multi-focused better than flighty or easily distracted, but if the washcloth fits...

So then I said it again. Because that's who I am.

So yes, I will never like the person I was talking about before, for all of the reasons I mentioned, but I kept them around for too long because that's who I am.

I want to reach you.
I want you to understand what I'm trying to tell you.
I want to find common ground.
I don't ever want to assume that you are just being an asshole.

Because that's who I am.

I've said it before, don't let who they are change who you are.

I am the sort of person that would rather keep someone around a little too long than drop someone the first time they make me mad.

I am the sort of person who will take it on good faith when you say you want to learn something about someone different than you are.

I am the sort of person who cares if you are lonely or not.

But don't ever misunderstand, I am also not the sort of person who will ignore the warning signs forever. And once I'm done, once I see that you have taken advantage of who I am?

Well, fuck you.

Because that's also who I am.

And now I'm off to ponder the case of the missing washcloth.

Frogs...

He waited. Feeling her breathing slowing and slowing and slowing. They were curled together in their warm bed, her back pressed against him. He had been careful not to place his arm under her; holding her loosely but still curled together big spoon and little. Just a normal night.

Her breathing slowed more.

Then stopped.

He waited a little while longer just to make sure, then eased his way out of the bed. He kept an eye on her laying there while he slipped on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Then he went downstairs to his study.

He sat down at his desk and opened his laptop. He needed to check his files again. To make sure he was right. He opened his shadow system. It had taken him months to get just this far. To be able to run a parallel operation system on a hidden network. One that wasn't monitored. Because everything he did was monitored now. He tried to make sure he acted like he wasn't aware of it, but he was. He had been for awhile.

He logged into the boards. Checked a few feeds. Was there any new information? Were there any coded hints that had been deciphered? He found three references to the work he was doing and copied the information into his spreadsheets then retabuluated his results. They were still tracking on his predicted lines.

He ran his hand over his face and sighed. At best they had three more years.

Three years until it didn't matter anymore. Until they didn't matter anymore.

He sent a few messages. A few warnings. Things were still moving. Still happening. People needed to know. He needed to let them know. He needed to do more.

They all did.

But could they? He said three more years until they didn't matter anymore but was it really that long? Or had they ceased mattering long ago? Had he stopped being able to effect change when he had been hired? Or when he had been partnered? Or was he making a difference now, sneaking around in the dark? Taking risks like this? Was it really doing any good or was he just racing the avalanche downhill?

What was the analogy? Boiling a frog? When did the water first start to get warm? When he was in school. That must have been the first temperature increase. They all were tested. Pulled out and put in to specialities where they could do the greatest good. He remembered listening to stories from his grandparents where they used to be able to choose their own educational direction. What a waste of time. If you had no aptitude for math and had tried to be an engineer anyway what sort of disaster was that going to be? Or worse if you were highly gifted in languages and chose to do something ridiculous like act instead of working in foreign relations. What a waste of resources.

At least that's what he was taught to believe.

The water was definitely getting warm then. When he was redirected from his science classes in to computer technology. But it was comfortable. Like a dip in the ocean in August.

After he graduated and was assigned to work for the State Offices the water was probably heating up again. It was a good job. A great job. High salary, great benefits, a house for him, a home for his parents. A driver. A social calendar filled with events and team building with like minded individuals. He was so busy all of the time. New assignments crossing his desk at high rates of speed. Always a piece of the whole. We all work together for together we work for all! A nice bath water then.

Another turn up of the heat when he was partnered. And this one he definitely didn't notice. Well he didn't notice that his water was getting warmer, he noticed that he was warmer. It was a privilege to get one of the spouse models. Your husband or your wife was totally customized. They were designed to be all that you ever wanted. Sure, it was done subtly, through tests. Fun quizzes. The same sort that would spit out what type of dog you were, or the color of your aura back in his parent's early times. Now they asked questions and weighed your results and you ended up being "introduced" to your spouse as your year in bonus.

He understood that this meant that he had some sort of genetic flaw that shouldn't be passed along to another generation. He also understood it was a huge privilege to be granted a spouse model and he shouldn't feel any shame about it at all. It was a sign of how much the State Offices valued his services and wanted to keep him happy. But still, there was a little shame. He pretended, their friends pretended, they all sized each other up to see who was partnered and who had been allowed to choose freely. If there hadn't been the shame there wouldn't have been any reason to program them with memories of childhood. To have given them history. His wife would have laughed at the thought that she wasn't as human as he was. That she was any sort of robotic creation.

And yet, she lay in their bed right now not breathing. Receiving updates and software patches in her "sleep." Transmitting his movements and conversations. He was always watched, he just pretended not to be aware.

The water was warmer still.

He checked the obsolete boards one last time.

The numbers were increasing.

More than half of the population had been given a spouse. Some were now being given children. Robots who aged. Genetically enhanced lifeforms. They were being phased out.

While his wife slept upstairs he watched messages on boards and entered data on spreadsheets and felt the first bubbles of the boiling water around him.

Was it too late for them all to jump?

Great Starts...

The coyotes were restless last night...

Doesn't that sound like a great opening line to a fiction story?

It's not. It's just a stated fact. I didn't sleep well last night because the coyotes woke me up. When they get together in a pack (not always the case, coyotes hunt on their own quite a bit, they are more scavenger than pack hunter) they yip and cry and carry on. It's eerie.

Wolves howl. It's primal and will raise the hairs on the back of your neck a little. It's also kind of deep and vibrates in your chest a bit. Scary. But in that portion of your brain that understands hunters and hunted.

Coyotes? They scream. And cry. And sound like angry toddlers. Or banshees. They raise the hair on the back of your neck and on your arms and make your stomach kind of twist. Because you aren't sure if you should be scared or should try to help. If they are dangerous or in danger. If they are natural or supernatural.

The coyotes were restless last night...

I think it will be a start to a fiction story at some point. Because I love a good opening line.

Re-reading all of my old blogs has shown me that. Opening lines are most often the inspiration (or excuse) for the entire rest of the story. I like them so much that probably 60% of my stories open and close with the same line.

I love a good open and I love a call back.

Quite often what's in the middle is just a way to get there.

But anyway, last night the coyotes woke me up. I didn't check the time. I don't have a bedside clock. We use our phones for alarms so no need for one. And it's part of not fighting insomnia. If you have a clock you are tempted to just do the math all night. If I get to sleep right now I will get 6 hours of sleep...okay if I get to sleep now I will get 5 hours of sleep...oh my god if I fall asleep right now I will only get 4 hours of sleep... So I never check the time. I just relax and try to get back to sleep or at least to that zone of relaxation.

Last night I was having a harder time getting back to relaxed. Like I said, the coyotes were restless. It's hard to relax and go back to sleep when hell demons are outside your window calling for lost souls.

So instead I started thinking about my life over the past few years. Specifically that I have a written record of what I was thinking at certain times. What I believed. What was really going on in my head. Because (and there are scientific studies to back me up here) we are not actually reliable witnesses to our own past beliefs. We often think we have ALWAYS thought one way when we in fact held opposite views at one point.

I've talked about it before and I'm not bad at it for the most part. I know what I've always believed and know what I used to believe but don't anymore. The things I feel the strongest about I haven't shifted on. Some other things I have, but I've also talked about those and why I've shifted. I also believe that as we age we become more and more distilled versions of who we really are. We tend to shed things that we didn't really hold that tightly to. There are areas that I used to be more willing to bend in, opinions that I didn't hold myself but didn't view as being that bad that I now look at and think, nope. Now I'm not as sure if that's just me changing or if it's the world has shifted and now I see where certain paths lead.

I'm not as willing to keep my politics on my blog and then only sometimes, only for big issues, and not on my Facebook page. In the beginning of my time of Facebook (from reading my blog I can see this) I actually worked really hard at keeping my political opinions off of there and keeping them only here. That isn't the case anymore. Now I feel that it's important to make clear what I do and do not believe and why. I think it's a mistake to stay silent when people are saying things that are wrong, factually or morally. Who knows if in ten years I will feel the same way or think this was a mistake. But for right now I feel like we need to have discussions, and we need to see reasonable people make arguments and we need to see that we are not alone in our opinions so we can gain strength from that. (I also know that there are people who do not feel that I am reasonable or have shareable opinions.)

So as I was contemplating the changes in my own opinions over the years and where I am right now the coyotes were screaming outside the window. And I wondered to myself, Where are we? As a country and as a world where are we right now? There is a lot of divide. There is a lot of hypocrisy. There is denial of science, of facts. In the United State we have a president who constantly lies and his base tries to sweep it away by claiming that the media is biased by reporting that he constantly lies. We have divisions on gender, on color, on everything really. We are all very cemented in our opinions and think those that disagree with us are idiots.

"Don't tell me you honestly believe...."

That's how one comment started on a post I made the other day.  Don't tell me you honestly believe... I've written about this before. Of course I honestly believe that or I wouldn't have posted it. Don't be stupid and don't ever presume that I am.

I'm a happy person by nature. My baseline is happy. Most of my day I'm smiling or laughing about something. And yet, there is a rage that is just under the surface a lot of the time now. Now part of that is menopause. I will be honest here, if hot flashes were heat rays the whole world would burn...but it's also the feeling that the world is out of control. That important things are being dismissed. That the wrong things are being thought valuable. That we are in dangerous times and not enough people are listening. And those of us that are concerned are being dismissed. Pushed aside. Even though our numbers are strong and high, the systems are rigged and so we keep having to push and then get criticized for pushing. It leads to that slow burn anger being right there. All the time.

So sleep was difficult.

The coyotes were restless last night...

The Company You Keep...

Part One

William folded the picture up and started to put it back in his wallet. He paused thinking that he really should just throw it out. Forget about her. If his Commander saw that he carried a picture of her he might get the wrong idea.

It wasn't the first time he had contemplated this. He put the picture back in his wallet. It wouldn't be the last.

He stared at the ceiling in the little bedroom he was currently not sleeping in. Remembering their last morning together. He had been so excited to get started. To really make a difference.

"It's not going to be what you think."

She had told him this before. He wanted to steer the conversation away from the topic. He was worried about what she might say. He was worried someone might overhear. His regiment was packing up supplies, getting ready to leave. But she was talking and he didn't want her to stop either. He didn't know how long it would be before they would come back here. 

"You haven't been out there either. It might be exactly what I think. You could be wrong."

She gave him the don't be an idiot look again then rubbed her shaved head. "I have a good idea what it's like out there. I have a better idea what it's like here. I'm not blinded by some sort of misplaced patriotism."

"Patriotism is never misplaced." He puffed up a bit at the suggestion. 

"So noble. So honorable. That will change."

"I will always be honorable!" He really was starting to get insulted now. 

"I know you think that. But as you sit here eating breakfast your friends are stealing everything that isn't nailed down. What are you going to leave me with? No food, that's for sure."

"They are packing supplies, they aren't stealing!"

"Supplies? They are my things. They are taking my things."

"You will get reimbursed by the Army for anything that is requisitioned."

She laughed her bitter laugh. "Do you still believe that? Oh, William, you are naive."

She walked to the table and leaned close to him and whispered in his ear, "There are things that can never be repaid. There are things that once stolen can never be returned. You are going to have choices to make once you're out there. Make the right ones."

Then she walked out of the kitchen and in to the yard where his Commander was working with a group to round up the chickens to take with them. If they would lay eggs while they were in transit that would be best but if not they could kill them and have meat for dinner. William watched from the window as she strode out in to the yard. She walked up behind one of the men that had been sharing the house with them. One that William had never liked. He was the type to take things that weren't his to take, and to leave bruises on white skin that couldn't be ignored. As she neared him William saw a flash of silver in her hand. He could have shouted out a warning right then but didn't. He tried later to tell himself that he hadn't known what she was going to do but that wasn't honorable. He couldn't lie even to himself.

But he never told anyone else that he had seen it coming. He wasn't that stupid. 

She plunged the knife into his brain. Targeting the small vulnerable spot at the back of his neck. It was fast. Up and in. He dropped without a sound. Then she had turned and opened her arms to his Commander, "Fuck you." Those were her last words. He shot her at least 8 times. It wasn't quick and clean. She had been better than them all the way to the end. 

That had been two years ago. 

William had done and seen a lot since then. 

It's why he couldn't always sleep. 

The room was starting to fill with sunlight. He didn't want to look at the floor. He wanted to keep looking at the ceiling. He wanted to keep replaying the memories of her cooking him breakfast. He wanted to go back in time and listen to her about leaving. He wanted to talk her into going with him. Smuggling her out from behind the fence. Living a life where she could grow her hair back or get another tattoo or cook like she loved to...

He looked at the floor. At the stain where the blood had pooled. He didn't want to think about that. 

"Gosser! You're smaller than me, go see if you can reach her."

His friends, as she had always called them and now he even thought of them that way, had been laughing and joking outside the door to the room. They had stopped at this house not expecting to find it occupied. Most people moved on if they knew the 2nd was on the march. But sometimes they didn't. Then they would hide. Sometimes that worked. If they were only looking for supplies they would sometimes pretend they didn't see anyone. But if they were looking for other things...

William had gone into the room and looked around. He could hear her breathing. She was trying to be quiet but the panic had set in so each breath was a quiet whimper. She had to be under the bed. It was a small bed, low to the ground. They could have lifted it off of her maybe but it would be easier for him to slide under there and just drag her out. His friends closed the door to make sure she couldn't run once he got her out. 

He grabbed her arm and drug her across the floor to the middle of the room, she blinked up at him, the fear turning to confusion, "Billy?"

He hadn't been called Billy in a long time. It was familiar, but not him, not anymore. 

"Billy? It's you, isn't it? It's me, Suzanne. From Mrs. Springfield's class. Remember? We sat next to each other..." She trailed off and then shook her head. Remembering where they were. Who they were. Just how far away Mrs. Springfield's third grade class really was.

William stared at her. "Suzanne. Yeah. I remember you." And he did. She had always been so nice to everyone. One of those people who even in the third grade didn't give in to bullying the weird kids. She never made fun of the quiet boy who just liked to listen to people talk.

There was a bang on the door, "Did you get her Gosser?? Save some for the rest of us!"

Suzanne closed her eyes as her body shook with fear. "Billy..."

"I'm sorry." He reached up and scratched his own face, then yelled as he shot her.

The door slammed open as he stood over the bleeding out body. "Crazy bitch attacked me."

"Ah shit...well that's no fun."

They drug her out into the yard and burned her on the trash pile. 

He slept in her room that night. Spoils of war. 

He put his hand over his wallet, making sure it, and everything it contained, was secure in his pocket. She had been right.

It wasn't what he thought it would be. He thought he had made the right choice though. The honorable one. What would she have thought?

He heard her voice in his head,

"Fuck you."

Useful Idiots...

While she was dressing to go out she had the news on in the background.

The newscaster's face held in what she thought of us "interested listening" pose. But she could see in her eyes the reflections of "why are we listening to this crap?" Or maybe it was her own reflection she was seeing.

Though she knew why she was listening to that crap. Useful idiots. 

Every movement has them. The ones that are sent out, or set up, to spread a certain message. To either take the heat away from what is really going on, or to move the needle with the "invisible hand."

The woman on the news program was a useful idiot. 

She had no idea that's what she was. She was truly sincere in what she was saying. That's the only way it worked. But she still was what she was. She was there to talk about the offensive Halloween costumes that they saw every year. Horrible things. Pushing outdated and incorrect ideas. The newscaster was wondering why she always got stuck with these interviews. 

Useful idiots. 

The nonexistent War On Christmas was fully manned by useful idiots. The first seedings in of them had started years ago but they were having a difficult time reaching full potential for awhile. They (them, the big THEY) had really hit the bonanza when that talking head idiot started making it a centerpiece of his show every year. THE WAR ON CHRISTMAS! It was good marketing. You saw the shift from people being a little put out that stores started hitting them up for Christmas dollars in November to being able to shame anyone who said anything about it when they went up in October. 

How dare you! You are part of the WAR ON CHRISTMAS! 

So they won a nonexistent War on Christmas. And now you were expected to shop for decorations right after you got the kids off to school in September; to plan your gift list, get your matching pajamas, buy the food that will cost you the entire rest of the year budget all to show that you were not part of the WAR ON CHRISTMAS!

The only misstep they had was in trying to take over Thanksgiving as well. More and more stores opened for the day. And earlier and earlier. They were really close to getting all of the calendar between October and December but then...well...the whispers started. "It's the liberals, trying to take away Thanksgiving with their revisionist history." "You know how they are, they don't want us saying grace around the Thanksgiving table. They'd rather we all be shopping! HOW DARE THEY!"

That's the problem with useful idiots, they are useful, but they are still idiots.  So Thanksgiving went back to being a day off. A Fall colored island in a sea of red and green. But just that one day.

They'd try again later. Of that she was sure. 

She had history on her side after all. 

Listening to the woman on the news talk about ancient religions and peace with nature she nodded. 

The first time they had tried to create a diversion it had been like the Thanksgiving debacle, really. Okay, maybe it was worse. She didn't really feel badly about it. It wasn't her. It was history. She only used they because it was her ancestors. So really it wasn't a we sort of they it was a them sort of they. That's what she told herself.

But basically they had been too successful. And then there had been backlash. 

"...we don't wear ridiculous pointed hats, or fly around on brooms..."

So Salem had been a low point in her family history. Who knew that the reaction would be so strong? Sure, looking back it was clear that old superstitions would lead to violence, but at the time? She had to think that her ancestors were just trying to show it was all very silly business and nothing they should even pay attention to. Little girls playing pretend games. But then crops failed (not unusual, crops fail all the time) and people got sick (again, not unusual) and people started to doubt that praying to their God was doing any good. So they found scapegoats. So many scapegoats. Beyond the two useful idiots that had been part of the original plan. Over 200 in the end with 20 dead...

She shivered a little then. 

"...it's very unpleasant to see your culture maligned with silly hats and warty noses..."

So it was a few years later, quite a few years later, before they tried again. And now they had groups all over the world. Women and men who would go on news programs and talk about the ancient Wiccan religion and how it had absolutely nothing to do with story book witches! They were very convincing. As they should be considering they really believed what they were saying. They were a good distraction. 

She opened the hall closet and grabbed her hat and her broom. She needed to pick up a little eye of newt before she could finish her latest brew. There was a weather system coming in that was going to be bad, very bad. She needed to do what she could to make it less so. To provide the "miracles" that always came after such storms. The world needed witches.

And useful idiots. 

I'm Not a Pacifist...

I don't take a lot of shit.

I don't put up with a lot of nonsense.

I have no truck with fools.

I'm not a bystander by nature.

You all know that.

When you are hit in the face you see stars. Mostly nose hits do that. A solid jaw hit can actually drop you unconscious because of the nerve that runs along there. But nose hits, cheek bone hits, those can make you wish you were dropped they hurt so much. Eye sockets? Fragile things. Even if the orbital bone doesn't break the eye swells easily. Nature's way of protecting the eye from damage. Pretty genius really.

If you hit someone in the face your hand hurts. If you hit them hard enough your whole arm feels it. Your hand is solid. The bone you are hitting is solid. The impact stops the momentum so all of the energy has to go someplace.

That funny shot in a movie where someone who has clearly never hit anyone before shakes their hand out? That's real. It's a shock. You don't think you should hurt. You are the one hitting after all.

If you have never been hit at all, let alone in the face, the first time it happens is a shock.

If you are lucky and you get hit in the face, it is the only time you are ever hit in the face.

But if you have been hit in the face, or hit a few faces yourself, you know what it feels like and what to expect. So you are prepared when you might get into an altercation.

I think there are violent people in this world and nonviolent people.

I also think that violent people can learn to curb their violence and nonviolent people can be pushed to violence.

But there is a divide. Even people who have worked very hard at curbing their tendencies can feel it sometimes.

The itch in your hand that creeps along. That makes you feel your fist curling. Or maybe the itch is your subconscious trying to get you to uncurl your fist. I'm not sure.

Saturday before the game we were eating dinner, watching football, and wasting time at BWW. The table behind us had 4, (maybe 4, I didn't turn and look, not by choice, we'll get there) guys watching games. They had been drinking for awhile. Loud. Obnoxious. Told the waitress to smile. Which sets my jaw. Her facial expression is none of your goddamn business...

That was the first time Brent leaned over and put his hand on my knee.

See, Brent knows that if I lose my cool it's not good for anyone around. So he works as my Jiminy Cricket. And as everyone else's protector. Because first I'm going to say something, then I'm going to do something. Jiminy reminds me that's not the right thing to do.

They kept up the "banter" with other fans in the bar. And by banter I mean screaming at them about their team choice. Now, here is where I have to say, as much as I swear and as much as I don't give a fuck about good words and bad words I also don't like it when people swear loudly when kids are around. You don't know how those kids are being raised. You have no idea what their families are like. So watch your mouth. It's just common fucking decency...

Brent's hand on my knee again.

And then one of them started peppering in the gay slurs. The f word that I don't use. Ever. The one that I even have a hard time with hearing my gay friends use as they try to reclaim it. Because of assholes like this one, who use it as a slur. As a slam to insinuate that teams, coaches, players are somehow less than.

And now I'm not even supposed to turn around. Brent is holding eye contact with me, and his hand is firmly on my leg. Because I'm going to lose it. And if I turn around they are going to read it in my face and as soon as they say anything I will be off.

I am not a bystander by nature.

BUT...

I'm there with Brent and with Christopher.

I was raised around assholes like the dude at the table behind me.

The type that get drunk and obnoxious and use the f word as a slur.

I know that the moment I unleash on them, they will want a fight and they won't be coming after me.

Because that wouldn't be the "manly" thing to do.

And as there are three of us at that table. And as there is one of us who can tell you what it feels like to punch and be punched and still come up for more and as I love the other two people and have no urge to drag them in to my fight even though they are pretty big guys and most likely could handle themselves, as I believe even nonviolent people can be pushed...but I don't want to push the nonviolent people in my life so...

I had to remain quiet.

And it still pisses me off.

It was the safest call to make.

On one hand it was the right call to make.

The unclenched fist hand.

If I had been there by myself I would have said something.

That's the other hand. The clenched one.

Which is slightly insane, I get that. There were 4 (?) of them and one of me.

But as Brent put it as we walked away they would have been shocked that the one they needed to worry about was the one they wouldn't have been worried about at all. Until they realized their mistake.

Because I have no quit when that is flipped.

And, as Brent also said, they wouldn't have understood what I was telling them when I explained why what they were doing was offensive and they needed to knock it off.

Their ignorance radiated off of them.

Just like my anger radiated off of me.

Brent is a good man for a fighter with no quit to be married to. When he sees the rise, he puts his hand on my knee and makes me consider the consequences.

I fucking hate considering the consequences.

When you hit someone your hand hurts.

When you don't your conscious does.

I'm not a pacifist by nature.

Breakfast...

William couldn't fall asleep. He was cold and hungry and the bed he was sleeping in was too small for his 6'5" frame. He knew he should be glad to have a bed, the week before had been spent camping out on cold, hard, ground but the bed wasn't much better really. And the house was only marginally warmer.

He tossed and turned for a while longer before giving up. He reached for his wallet and pulled out a folded picture. She was smiling. Radiant. Happy. He closed his eyes and pulled up some of his most worn memories. The ones that would have fold marks like the picture, fuzzy edges from being held too often, looked at too much. The ones that got him through the cold, uncomfortable nights. The ones that helped him forget the day.

She was cooking breakfast. Eggs. The chickens in the yard were still laying plenty of eggs. And even though he knew they would be either over cooked or underdone he was still looking forward to a warm breakfast to start the day. She was also terrible at making coffee. It was going to be bitter, watered down, burnt or cold. Never could predict how it would be bad, but it was going to be bad.

She was lousy at cooking. But she was great at making conversation. She always gave him something to think about.

"How did you get that scar?" William asked.

Her hand reached up to the side of her head, fingers caressing the raised and puckered skin. "It was a tattoo."

"Did it get infected or something?"

She had laughed. That bitter laugh that he would replay in his head over and over again, trying to hear the joyful laugh inside of it. "No. They cut it out of my skin."

He had looked shocked. He had been shocked. He could still be shocked in those days. "Who cut it out?"

She had turned and looked at him. What he thought of as her "don't be an idiot" look. "When they shaved my head they saw the tattoo so they cut it out."

"Why?"

"Because you can't shame someone who has chosen to be that way."

He didn't understand what she was saying. That was probably why she often gave him that don't be an idiot look.

She sighed, "They shaved my head to shame me. To make me look less than. To make me unattractive. But the tattoo shows that this is not the first time my head has been shaved. That at some point I chose to shave my head. I chose to be bald. I chose to decorate my bare scalp in celebration of my baldness. Shaving my head to shame me doesn't work if it reveals I am not ashamed."

"What was the tattoo?" He wanted to picture her from before. What would she have gotten a tattoo of?

"It was a rose." Her fingers traced the scar again. "My sister and I got them together."

"Why?"

"My mother had cancer."

He started to say he was sorry and she raised her hand to stop him. "Don't do that. Don't tell me how sorry you are for my loss. Just don't."

She turned back to the stove and then kept talking, "When she lost her hair my sister, my aunt, and I all shaved our heads as well. When the doctors told us that the treatment wasn't going to work my sister and I shaved them again and got roses tattooed on our scalps. Her name was Rose."

She kept her back to him. He didn't say anything. But he remembered watching her touch the scar and thought about it a lot. How it must feel. That raised and puckered skin. How it must feel to her, to have lost that piece that connected her to her mother and to her sister. He ate his overcooked eggs and drank his watered down coffee.

Another morning a few weeks later they were talking about movies.

She was cooking again. He was waiting for breakfast. The house was warm and cozy. And she was talking more than normal which made it even better.

"Is it a reflection of society or was society shaped by its reflection?"

"It's just a story."

"It's just a story that is told over and over again. So is it just a story at that point or is it a blueprint?"

He was lost again but he didn't want her to stop talking. "It's not even that common of a story."

She shook her head, "Really? It's not? If you have a strong woman in a movie how do you show her vulnerability? She's raped. Or you say she had been raped and that's what made her tough. If you have a man that you need to spur into action how do you do it? You rape the woman he's closest to. Rape has been used as a plot device since stories have been told. Is it because rape has always been used as a weapon, or is that rape is now used as a weapon because we've seen it so many times in our stories?"

"But the stories show how awful it is, so maybe it's a lesson."

"Does it really show that? If the outcome is that the hero is heroic, that the woman is stronger than she knew, or more vulnerable than she was before, is it really showing that it's awful? Or is it giving permission to use it as needed?"

"I think it's awful."

She nodded then shrugged her shoulders. Placing his plate of runny eggs in front of him he noticed the line of bruises around her wrist. He didn't ask where she got them.

A week or so later she was cracking eggs getting about half of the shells in the mix.

"Are you from here originally?"

"Yeah. Born and raised. I left for college but I came back."

"I'm..."

She cut him off, "You are from some quiet suburb someplace. Not quite a city boy, but not really one of the country kids either. In the middle."

"How do you know that?"

"Your accent for one. Your friends all have country accents. You don't."

She always called them his friends. He had corrected her a few times, they weren't his friends, they were part of his regiment, but not really friends. She had just shaken her head and said they weren't hers and yet here they were so they must be his. He had stopped arguing.

"My accent gives me away?"

"And your manners."

He pulled his elbows off the table quickly.

"Not manners like that. Manners like mannerisms I guess. You approach the world a little differently."

"So do you, but you were raised here."

"But I left and came back. I saw other ways to be. I'm from here, but not all here." She laughed her bitter laugh again.

"Why do you talk to me and not anyone else?" His friends as she called them always said it was weird that she never spoke. But they were never here for breakfast.

"Because you listen. Because I want you to hear me."

A few weeks later her jaw had a dark black bruise lining it.

They were talking about the 2nds. They were moving out soon and he was excited.

"It's not going to be fun, you know." She never really talked about what he was going to do. This was new.

"Well, no it's not supposed to be fun. It's important though. We have to make things right."

She laughed, "Right. Sure."

"What are you going to do when we leave?"

"Same as I'm doing now, I guess. Wait for one of you to be smart enough to kill me."

He laughed. She had to be joking. "Why would any of us kill you? We aren't killers."

She nodded. "It's not going to be like you think out there."

He was frustrated. She didn't know anything. She had been a subversive. That's why her head was shaved. To show that she wasn't really one of them. He shouldn't have let himself forget that.

"We are defending The Constitution. We are the 2nds!"

"You should have read it before you decided to defend it. Did you know there are other amendments after the 2nd? The 3rd would be interesting to you I would think."

He was mad and wanted to give her a smart answer about defending all of the amendments, but he knew it had to be a trap. He had no idea what the third amendment even said. But she wouldn't have brought it up if she didn't have a point. She always made him think.

"Why are you waiting for one of us to kill you? Why haven't you just killed yourself?" Even as he said it he regretted it. Kill yourself was not what he wanted to say. He was going to take it back, but then she answered.

"I did. A long time ago."

"What?"

"When I decided to stay when all of my friends where moving away. When I made the choice to help others get out. I knew the risk. I told myself it was like my mother's cancer. I was going to die anyway but I could help. I sent people to the city. As many as I could. When the fence was electrified and the gate locked I knew it was too late. It was like the cancer had spread. When they shaved my head and cut out my tattoo. When they put in the tracker. When they forced me to open my doors to you and your friends. This will kill me. Eventually. I made that choice."

"You don't have to be like that."

She smiled at him. "I do. You don't though. You have a choice still. You could walk away. Once you are on the other side of that fence, you could just walk away. Your accent would protect you."

He felt the eggs churning in his stomach. She was trying to get him to desert. That was treason. She could be shot. She would be shot. He could shoot her right now and it would be legal.

He didn't.

His commander did.

Going through the house before they left he found the picture. It was of her standing with friends around a table filled with food, she was wearing a chef's hat and an apron with the name of her catering company on the front.

She had been an excellent cook.