They were all white, almost all men, mostly young, or youngish.
They were a powder keg waiting for the right accelerator, all swagger
and testosterone. Many dressed in red, white and blue, patriots all.
They loved this version of America, their vision of America.
They were cordoned off in their designated pen. These
hundred or so awaited the beginning of the coronation that was to
commence later that evening.
I had come as witness, to watch and report on this year's
version of the greatest show on earth. I was decidedly opposed to
virtually everything the gun toting crowd held dear. I was as angry
about their lack of understanding of the fundamentals of governing as
they were about anything and everything about me.
All that stood between us and uncivil war was a cordon of
cops, a covey dressed in blue, their faces shielded from view, their
purpose serious, their demeanor unmistakable. They were tasked with
protecting not merely the gathered, but the very safety of this
country.
I stood maybe fifty yards removed from those who believed I
was not their opposite but their enemy. We were all there exercising
our Constitutional rights, of first Amendment assemblage and free speech
and, for them at least, their interpretation of a second Amendment that
permitted them to form their own version of a well regulated militia.
We stared at one another in uneasy truce. One, maybe in his
early 40's, about six feet tall, blonde and blue eyed, seemed to fix
his gaze and his intentions upon me. I could almost feel his breath,
even half a football field removed. I was as uncomfortable as if he was
standing beside me, poking me with deliberate belligerence. I stared at
the ground, hoping to deflect his focus, but I could sense my ploy was
useless.
It was but a minute later that the inevitable voices of
conflict began to rage. It started from our side of the equation, from
among our righteous two dozen or so. It mattered not the words but
merely the tone, condescending, belittling, full of vinegar and spit.
The fire was returned in rapid order, the biting sounds
piercing through the air as arrows streaking toward their target. The
men and women in uniform were keenly aware that this could quickly
escalate to dark places and they warned, in clear and concise language,
that inciting to riot would not be tolerated.
The verbal attacks ebbed and flowed over the next few
minutes to a kind of standoff. One insult parried by another. Calm in
direct mouth to mouth combat with anarchy. Not only our universe, but
the entirety of our nation readied for what was certain to come next.
Was this what was envisioned twelve score years ago when we
were birthed? This union might have been conceived in liberty but was
this its definition, this its intention, this its destiny? I wondered how Abraham Lincoln
might have orated were he to give grave review of this assemblage. Could
he have considered that his party would have chosen as its standard
bearer this version of man's inhumanity to man?
And then I heard it. The unmistakable sound. A blonde hair
blue eyed piercing scream. A piece of his face gone missing. The blood
streaming everywhere and in a fraction of a second he was down.
"Shooter, shooter, shooter." And it was only then I realized that I had pulled the trigger.
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