A woman clamors inside a cramped broadcast booth.
Frantically, she seals the door and turns crashing her back against it, and
letting herself slide down it as she sinks to the floor.
Exhaustion
has carved its mark upon her once beautiful face. She appears as if she’s had
no sleep for a week. Her complexion is greasy, hair matted. She breathes in
ragged punches like an over the hill boxer in deep rounds.
Blinking
she wills herself to stand, and her eyes suddenly show a defiant purpose that
was missing only a moment ago. She strides towards the control panel, and flips
a single switch. In response a bright red sign reading On Air lights up overhead. She grabs the microphone, her hand
trembling as she does this.
She stops,
paralyzed by the notion that she has no idea what to say. Millions of fickle,
unresponsive, indifferent lives depend on whatever words she’s able to blurt
out over the airwaves in the next few minutes. She knows that’s if she’s lucky.
It’s critical
she make the speech short, but pointed. Succinct though empowering.
The red
light hangs over her like a threat. Outside the door she can already hear the clamor
starting. Time has never been on her side, and now it seems luck has abandoned
her as well.
Closing
her eyes, she takes in a long breathe. The microphone gripped devoutly in her
right hand. She stops thinking about finding the right words…and. Just. Goes…
“My
name is Heather Vogel; most of you know me as the United States’ Secretary of Defense.
I don’t have much time so I want to say this quickly. Everyone that can hear my
voice, please pay attention. What I am about to say is of the utmost
importance, and I beg of you to carry on my words to those that are not hearing
this broadcast.”
Shouting,
though muffled, can be heard from outside the door. Heather certainly can hear
it, her eyes flick that direction. It doesn’t slow her dialogue at all.
“Everything
you’ve been raised to believe is a lie.” Her words become strained with uncertainty,
but she plows through. “They’ve been controlling the masses all along, since
there was a group large enough in need of controlling I suppose. When it
started isn’t essential right now, but you must know that you are merely just a
cog in a machine, a tool to be profited from by those in charge.
“Religion
as you know it was created to enslave you…” Heather hopes the statement sinks
in.
The
pounding at the door worsens, there is something big hammering now, and no
longer can the noise be attributed to human fists. Following the thunderous
pounding, the sounds of commands being yelled just a few feet from her position
derail Heather for an instant, causing her to pause.
“But
that’s not all. Nearly every facet of society has been tethered to a cooked-up belief
that was created, nearly implanted, in our very psyche to splinter us, so that
we as people would never come together for the common good. Racism, gender
inequality, income disparity and a thousand other aspects of our daily lives,
all whispered in our collective ears as babes, a real life bogey man to keep us
scared so that we remain compliant.”
The
door was failing, the bass drum of the battering ram she supposed they were
using would ensure she’d be overtaken soon. She had to hurry.
This time
she didn’t waste a second staring at the door. Instead, she let her eyes wash
over the desk she stood at. Besides the microphone and stand she now held, atop
it were only three other things: a pistol, an ash tray that held a still burning
cigar, and the slumped head and neck of a dead man.
Tears
well in her eyes as her voice thickens with emotion.
Heather
regains control, “Again, it gets much worse, while within the last 100 years we
as a society have come to feel that these so-called tenants of life are nothing
more than archaic bullshit, and inherently wrong. Yet from the inside out, we
rebel against the outmoded ideas of racial dominance, sexism, and orientation so
they begin to distract us anew. Since they can no longer stoke the fires of our
hatred as efficiently as they once could with religious order, or societal
norms, they instead aim to distract us with technology, and the promise of an
easy life. From your cancer-causing Smartphone, to the automobile, to the ambiguity
of a sneaker. All of these just vehicles of leisure to divert you from the fact
that all you’re doing in this life is treading water. You are their puppet on
what appear to be long strings, but in actuality is a short leash.”
The door
can no longer hold it splinters inward in a burst of noise and debris. Heather
sees it in slow motion. She can no longer hold back either, the tears rush
forward, and her mouth wrenches as she struggles to speak. “I know it sounds
crazy, but you’ve got to do something. You’ve got to break the cycle! STOP FEEDING
THE MACHINE!!”
Several
forms, encased in riot gear and armed with several menacing looking machine
guns swarm the room.
Heather
sees this, as the On Air sign go
dark. She swipes the pistol from the table top, aiming it not at the opposition
before her, but pressing it instead against her temple.
The
leader holds up a closed fist, and full team halts their advance.
Heather
looks at them. They return the look but only superficially. At a glance they
see only a demented, haggard looking lunatic. They can’t see anything else. They
are unable, or perhaps refuse to see she was speaking the truth.
“Stop
or I’ll shoot.” Despite her disheveled appearance Heather looks smugly
satisfied. She’s become an empty vessel, as the team stands immobile before
her.
“Do you
think millions of Americans will find it odd if I decide to take my own life,
rather than turn myself over to you?” this time, Heather’s words spur no
response from the riot team. She sighs, “What lies did they tell you I wonder?”
The group
rushes Heather, but not before the pistol in her hand rings out the sound of a
single shot.
