Afraid For All
I wrote this a few months ago and decided I would post it here. It isn't specifically furry but I think it's ambigious enough. This came to me one day when I was thinking about mass media and thought I would write an extreme personality type, a manifestation of what I feel major news is shooting for. At least, that's what it seems with all they ever talk about! Enjoy and let me know what you think!
Afraid for All
My descent had started normal enough. I watched the major news networks throughout my day much as any one else does, learning about the latest rampage, murder, rape, drowning or kidnapping. Like everybody else I had become apathetic towards it all because it was all I saw and all they talked about on the news. The few good things got lost in all the white noise of celebrity scandals, political corruption and wall street swindling as our great country spiraled slowly towards anarchy, or so it seemed via the news. You could watch the horror and terrible things we do to one another twenty-four seven. It was like watching reruns for a sitcom where the story was always the same but small details changed and there was a new cast every episode but in this case nobody ever got tired of seeing the same thing and the show never ended.
After years of exposure and more reporting of the occasional murders within miles of my work and home the pleasant paranoia that any suburban father harbors convinced me to purchase a pistol and get a concealed carry permit. As any self respecting and responsible gun owner does I took shooting classes and weapon safety courses. I would be the model citizen for my family and fellow man, protecting the innocent when somebody struck in a fit of rage or mental breakdown at the local mall or post office. A firearm is an amazing thing to wield, all the power it puts into the palm of your hand. No orator more powerful, no leader greater or religion more convincing just by sight and sound than a gun. Nothing more powerful to cause uncontrollable fear, creating paranoia and pandemonium wherever one goes.
Fellow works expressed concern and reasons it could be dangerous but I convinced them all of the overwhelming positives and over time they became more accepting and even receptive to the idea. After all, the courses had taught me how to be responsible and to convince the fearful that there was nothing to be afraid of.
Years passed, my children grew older, my enjoyment of recreational shooting grew and so did my modest collection, but I considered myself a reasonable man and kept only five weapons. Two pistols, two rifles and a shotgun. My children learned from a young age the dangers and I taught all of them how to shoot and defend themselves. I felt it important they know how to handle themselves with the power of a gun in their hands and to respect that power. I had told myself I would never be on the news as the parent of a child who found my gun hidden somewhere and shot either themselves or their friend they decided to show it to.
I vowed never to be today's 'Breaking News.'
My co-workers seemed to distance themselves over the next few years and my boss seemed concerned about my behavior and what he saw as a changing of character. I didn't understand what they saw, I did my work and did it well. The company was doing great and as far as I was concerned I didn't feel any different or notice a change other than getting older. All my children had moved out, gone to college or work and building their own lives; constructing a legacy of their own.
My wife filed for divorce, saying she couldn't handle my constant paranoia, fear and all the 'crazy' things I tried to rationally discuss with her. Apparently bars on the windows and a hair trigger home security system, that found her being questioned by police on a couple of occasions, excessive. I calmly told her that buildings in the city had all of these things and even more; she claimed our neighborhood was safe, secure even and that the police were paid to protect us. She didn't seem to agree when I pointed out that the police were always too late, she said I watched too much evening news.
She left and I changed all the locks, not even my children got new keys. One day when the shit hit the fan they would see I was thinking ahead and then they would see the truth too late. Next I converted the guest room into a workshop and armory.
My collection of self defense products grew and so did the dangers of world. It seemed never ending, the amount of tragedy everyday only grew. Work no longer felt sale throughout the day anymore.
A year later my boss offered me an option. I could resign and get a portion of my retirement because he respected me and appreciated my years of hard work and time I had poured into the company, or he would lay me off if I didn't quit and I got nothing but a pat on the back. Not being a stupid person I, of course, resigned. Before I got into my expensive and completely worth the expense, armored SUV, I put my flak jacket on, standard operating procedure when entering an unsafe area: downtown.
Nobody seemed to understand my insatiable drive to be safe, nobody seemed to see the danger that lurked all around them. The killers lurking deep inside everybody around them, waiting to make them the next piece of news. My "conspiracy theories" and "fear mongering" drove my neighbors to shun me. I even had the police called on me because they saw me practicing maneuvers in my backyard with my perfectly legal "assault weapon," merely a tool of greater self defense capabilities.
The day finally came after a year of unemployment and spending all day at home watching the news, just like every other day before it. I had felt numb all day, mentally exhausted from my never ending traffic jam of thoughts. I had noting to take my mind off of them, no weapon to clean and nothing in the shop to build. My family wanted near nothing to do with me. So I sat and watched and stared, head pounding inside my skull. My mouth opened to scream my frustration, I heard nothing but my throat felt raw after ten minutes of it. I shot upright, casually walking up to my television and kicked the onscreen reported straight in the face. The plastic screen spider webbed out and the picture exploded into hundreds of different, distorted colors in a psychedelic sunrise. The LCD set toppled backwards off of the table it sat on, leaning broken and silent against the wall.
I suddenly regretted destroying my TV. How would I receive my news now? I felt cut off and alone without a TV that was almost never off. Everybody was gone, abandoned me because it was convenient and easy to leave me to myself than to try and understand. They had been too weak to stay. It was all because of the news. It wasn't my fault at all for everything that had happened, how my life had been destroyed. The media had trained my family to let somebody else handle a problem they didn't feel like facing.
It had been Them.
Giant letters broadcasting the television station's name loomed over the glass entrance. Everything about them oozed intimidation; it really was just a part of their game. I had to put a stop to them before they did what they did to me to more innocent people. How many had they already corrupted and destroyed? I would not become another one of their statistics in a bar graph at the next revenue meeting.
I stepped out of my van, parked in the loading zone directly in front of the main entrance. The thought suddenly occurred to me that maybe all of the "news" was people they had corrupted over the years snapping. They didn't report the news, they worked to make it and happened to always been nearby. I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that what I was embarking upon was for the good of and for the protection of my fellow man.
Already people walking down the street were casting sidelong stares at me, trained by the media to examine everything as a threat; nothing was safe and nobody trustworthy in today's word. Crossing the street was just one step closer to being dead. I moved to the back of my van and opened the double doors, dressing and arming for the righteous work at hand. I encased my torso in bulletproof ceramics and attached were multiple pouches containing two magazines each for my assault rifle, modified to be automatic.
Everybody seemed to assume that I wasn't a danger, more like an action movie star. My appearance would set off alarms in any other place but armed men were as common in media as if they were a normal, everyday thing. Why else would I be walking around with a pistol strapped to each hip, a semi-automatic shotgun on one shoulder and a black assault rifle on the other along with being loaded down with ammunition and armor. I suppose being in front of a TV station made me seem less threatening. After all, nobody that went on rampages did so in well thought out and in such an obvious manner.
I spotted a nervous looking security guard talking into his radio behind his desk, glancing from me to something on the desk. He seemed understandably nervous.
He must not watch much television.
He had yet to pickup a phone so I assumed I was so extraordinary that he didn't think me worrisome enough to alert the police anymore than double check with management that I wasn't part of some sort of interview. The security guard wasn't displaying enough fear, clearly he was too far gone, corrupted. The revolving door was a tight fit but I fit through. He stood and his lips moved but I heard nothing as he spoke. I freed my pistol, aimed and fired. Nobody in the lobby reacted instantly, all dumbstruck that what they always saw was happening to them.
I had saved my first victim of the monster from its own belly.
The events that transpired over the next thirty minutes passed quickly, almost in a flash. The police that showed up found me easily; it wasn't too hired to follow the sound of gunfire, bodies, spent cartridges and blood. The cleanup was going to be a nightmare. The cops didn't understand my mission, my cause and tried to stop me. I couldn't allow them for a martyr cannot pas until his work is done. The building would be purged before S.W.A.T, I assumed they had been called in, arrived and posed a real threat.
The emergency exits were full of the shrieking demons. I had sealed them ahead of time, trapping those who fled in the stairwell. The cause of my fear could not be allowed to escape and spread it from another place. They could sling it to the masses but when faced by their own creation they cowered, begged, cried and screamed, pathetic. The quintessence of their evil flowed red down the cement stairways.
I searched more of the building and found only stragglers and those too cowardly to even face me from anywhere other than under a desk. These abominations could talk about and create it everyday but when faced with their own breaking news they collapsed, individuals only looking out for themselves. I rounded the corner into a foyer and saw the black clad figures, iconic yellow stenciling on their chests. Two rounds impacted before I had a chance to react and knocked me back around the corner, flat on my back.
Searing pain screamed through my body emanating from my chest. It felt like a giant was crushing me under his boot, air didn't want to fill my lungs. Adrenaline flooded my veins and I got to my feet, firing my shotgun around the corner. Glass shattered, plaster exploded from the walls and voices rose, shouting orders. If only the rest of society saw the truth as I did I would have an army at my side. I would never let them take me alive and turn my righteous message against my legacy, to keep the people that deserved the truth complacent.
The wall next to me exploded into fragments from return fire. I had seen four but I had no idea how many there really was. The last hell ejected from my shotgun, bouncing with a hollow thud across the linoleum. Out of shells, I tossed the shotgun into the open, a distraction. Quicker than S.W.A.T could counter I came halfway around the corner, firing a burst into the legs of the nearest exposed man. He crumpled onto his maimed appendages with a cry. Renewed fire shredded what was left of the wall next to me and I retreated to the main news room.
When they followed the first man in met his death. Empty casings clattered on the reporter's desk, the flash reflected in the lens of the multiple cameras around the stage. If only I knew how to turn them on, share with the world my message. There could be no more demons left at this point, I had done all I could to avenge what I had lost in my life and only hope that I had saved many that would have suffered a similar fate. Hope was all that I had left.
A black figure tried to pull the downed man that lay motionless back but was swatted away by another burst of automatic fire. Everything was quite and a moment later I was staring up at the ceiling, flat on my back, neck an inferno of roaring agony. Everything that was normally so easily was suddenly so difficult; breathing was nearly impossible and the world was suddenly devoid of sound. Black figures approached from both sides, weapons trained on me. One of them dropped at my side and I felt his gloved hand firmly press when my shoulder and my neck met. They moved, yelled and tried to apply rudimentary first aid. Their mission was ironic; to try and kill but failing that save who they wounded.
I wanted no saving. All I wanted was justice, more than what I had served. My cause was not over but I would be the first martyr and more would rise up and continue the cleansing. My mouth moved and throat trembled. The black garbed men stopped to listen but I couldn't hear my own voice. My mark had been left in the blood, casings and bodies.
I could only hope my cause would not be forgotten and that what I had started would not end with me but be taken up by those who understood. We all deserved the truth. We all deserve more than to be afraid.
"We have just received heartbreaking news that our sister station has been the victim of an unprovoked and deadly assault. The police haven't been commenting on what exactly has happened. They have told us that they have multiple officers down and that the S.W.A.T teams have brought down the, apparently, lone gunman. The police have sectioned off the entire block and are refusing to comment on how many have been killed or wounded, however, most area hospitals have dispatched most of their ambulances.
"We'll hopefully have more information on this tragedy at 10 o'clock tonight. Is no one safe anymore?"