A New Fear

Chills ran up the whole room’s spine, shaking the walls and cracking the foundation. We shared a universal look of absolute peril, backs arched and shoulders very nearly passing the tops of our heads. The knock at the door did not last long, as the cops had simply let themselves in. Aftershocks of the earthquake-like knocks ravaged the floorboards as the officials stomped around the house, looting through our things without so much as a word. The three of us gave up looking natural. It wasn’t like any other household hadn’t been traumatized by their abrupt entrance.

They took out our kitchen drawers, dumping the contents onto the tiling. Silverware clattered against stone, the scraping aching in my eardrums. Pots, pans, strainers - all thrown to the ground with little care. Cupboards of old craft supplies, boxes of family portraits, old drawings from our childhoods - tossed around the room haphazardly.

Tears sprung up into my eyes, boiling in my sinuses with a helpless sort-of rage. My fingers curled around the armrests of the chair I was sitting in. Georgie stroked the length of my arm, attempting to comfort me, but the damage was already done - already being done.

I could hear them in mine and Georgie’s bedroom now, tearing down curtains, ripping the mattresses off our our two beds. I could feel them peeling down the figurative wallpaper that we’d plastered between our shitty, little, makeshift family and the rest of the cruddy world. I could hear them in Connor’s room now, cracking open the urn that held his father’s ashes. I could hear our hearts break individually, could see the terror in my friends’ eyes.

And then they were fucking gone.

They were gone, leaving our home in shambles. Our dingy home, no better than anyone else’s in the country. Our dingy home that we’d fixed up ourselves, filled with things we thought were important. Our dingy home and the plans we’d made together within it. Our dingy home and the skin cells that we’d shed across every surface, the skin cells that no one could ever truly remove. Our dingy home that would always be a part of us, even when we were dead and the government had torched it.

I almost wished they’d found something to arrest us over. I almost wished I had an excuse to scream at them, swing my fists blindly and try to salvage some revenge for myself. Georgie now had a tense grip on my upper arm, trying to wipe the hot tears from my face as they fell. We sat at the kitchen table like this for nearly an hour, trying to compose ourselves. I felt stupid, young. What kind of rebellious activist breaks down and cries when some bulky men and stern women break into the house and wreak havoc?

“Honey, honey, shhhh,” Georgie cooed quietly, running a hand through my hair, “They’re gone now. They’re gone. We can fix all of this, I promise.” She sounded so calm herself, it made me feel worse.

Breathing deeply, I focused on calming myself down. This was nothing new for me. This really wasn’t new to any of us, especially since the Legion went and lost their shit on the nation. I should be used to feeling so angry, so helpless, so, so, so, sosososo.

Teeth clenched hard enough to feel the nerves in my ears pop, I seethed from between vicious, sneering lips, “I want them fucking dead.” My two friend’s heads popped up at my venomous words, not used to hearing such things from someone who was usually so pacifistic, so down-to-earth. “... I want them to pay for what they’ve done to us, to everyone. I want them to see their goddamned house in shambles. I want them to have to pick it all back up again, and again, and again, and again-”

“Jacquelin,” Georgie barked, grabbing me by the cheeks and staring me straight in the eyes, “We’re gonna be okay. We’re all gonna be okay. The Legion isn’t going to stand for much longer, I promise you. I promise that you’ll see a day when we can all do whatever the fuck we want, even if I have to do it with my own bare hands.” Her thumbs dug firmly into my jaw for good measure before she released me, ruffling my hair with her other hand.

Connor did not expound on the subject, simply giving me a pointed look, an empathetic one. I blinked back at him to show that I understood, but neither of us spoke.

Yet another knock came at the door, making me jump straight into the air, all adrenaline and no thought. My chair clattered to the ground, and I barged my way around fallen objects, broken articles and personal belongings. I answered the knock with impossible amounts of vigor, of rage.

“What the fuck do you want?” I spat hideously to the person behind the door, blanching almost immediately at the sight of my feeble neighbor. Scanning her quickly, I noticed numerous amounts of tears scaling down her cheeks, and I unconsciously rubbed at the dry streaks that had been running down my own just minutes beforehand. She very nearly turned and ran back down my driveway at my rude introduction, but I gently caught her by the wrist and guided her to our now cluttered living room. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know it was you, oh my God,” I scrambled to apologize, calling to Georgie and Connor to come out of the kitchen.

My brunette friend was the first to respond, striding into sight with a purposeful grace that only she could achieve. “Gloria! Thank God they didn’t hurt you. What’s wrong? What happened?” She ran off questions rapid-fire, immediately trumping my place as local comforter as she did so.

Gloria couldn’t respond for a long minute, opening her mouth many times to speak, only managing to make gurgling noises around her grief. Finally, she managed to get her words in between shaky breaths, “They took Scotty away from me.” My three friends and I could only stare at her, fish-faced and frozen. The frail, middle-aged woman looked up from her handkerchief that she’d blown her nose into, giving me a direct, soul-crushingly distraught look. “They took my son from me.”

Notes