Everything Touches

What if the world wasn’t changed by heroes, but by all of us?

Set up for a new kind of novel. This time no heroes, but the collective web of people acting to make things better.. or in some cases worse. Here’s the concept and the first three chapters.

Backcover

This book is both a thriller of a new kind and a study of people’s power. A chance meeting sets in motion a series of events that will shake a nation. In this remarkable and current book more than a hundred characters bring to life the reality of how we each touch other lives. It shows that rather than heroes circles of influence may matter the most. Everyone may touch everyone else and this book brings that to life with full power. It will you help rethink your own actions and influence. The story is about peoples against tyranny on the rise. An urgent work for dark times.

Vision Behind the Book

Whatever happens, its echoes spread like circles wide around. We all touch other peoples lives. And even a tiny touch may have a profound impact we are not aware of. In a world dominated by stories of super heroes, expert agents or self obsessed heroines looking for the right one, we need stories that help deal with reality and our role in it. We have to learn to look beyond ‘Us vs Them’ and ‘How do I get what I want?’ Our world may depend on it. And way to few books explore our influence and capability to act in service of the whole to the full extent other than in social activist leaflets. How to make the power of the people experiential in a novel? Few, too few, novels have explored this other than through focus on biographies of leaders of the people. The actions of all of us that help make these leaders succeed aren’t often enough exposed however. And this work gives it a try.

1. Pebbles in a stream

Donna, Washington D.C.~ The trouble with most people is that they don’t believe how much influence they can have on their own lives. Donna sighed. She flicked her braided tails back. Her red hair got her branded as a rebel in high school. Too often she got into trouble trying to live up to the name. More recently she had started to be more patient and show people more empathy. Biance, though, was making it hard. Listening to her whine about her terrible boss started to get on her nerves. Of course the guy was a bastard. He worked for a goddamn lobby institute corrupting politicians into disputable policies.

She understood Biance needed a job to pay the bills, and getting a new job was hard in town. But to keep on working for a party with hardly any ethics just to be safe, was wearing Biance down, and started to wear Donna down too. Biance’s living room looked like a interiors magazine picture, matching Biance’s platina blonde looks. It was like Biance hadn’t a life of her own any more. It was all too picture perfect without heart to it. Selling out your own dreams to protect an income clearly seemed to come with a price tag. “Come on, Biance! Let me tell you, what I think of your choices!” And she told her. Biance got angry. Didn’t she have a career and great income, Donna couldn’t even come close to? Donna left her to her thoughts and drove herself to her evening job. When she had left, Biance ended up in front of her golden rimmed mirror. Looking at the smeared eyeliner Biance’s lip started trembling and finally some tears rolled down her cheek.

Biance, Washington D.C.~ When Biance opened the door to her favorite coffee place she left her old life behind. Standing in line waiting to order her morning Frappuccino she heard the man before her talk into his cell phone about a job opening they needed to refill. Secretary to this CEO in front of her. The man was dressed classy and his order for an Americano with foamy oatmilk wasn’t too far outside her acceptable choices list. Not that she kept such a list consciously, but well, she could tell you about anything if it was on or off the list.

Biance didn’t hesitate. Bernard Okerstone was a terrible boss she could do without. Yesterday evening her friend Donna had given her some tough love. “You’re missing out on you destiny, Biance, if you don’t grasp opportunities more active,” she had said. She gently tapped the man’s arm and when he turned around she held out her hand. “Biance Fellucci, your new secretary.” She smiled, adding a little seductiveness for good measure. Jon Elkerton, after sizing her up, his eyes hovering a fraction too long on her bosom, smiled back, “We can at the least have coffee on this… eh Jon Elkerton.” They shook hands. He seemed already sold, just by her looks. Biance felt more hope than she had felt in a long time. She just had to make sure..

Erasmus, Washington D.C.~ Yurodivi sat beside his mentor Erasmus on a bench in the coffee house. With their back against the wall they could follow all going ons in the establishment. Erasmus hinted at a couple that just seemed to have met at the counter and now set themselves some four tables away from them. He made a miniature move with his chin to point them out. “What do you think that is about?” Erasmus offered to his ward. Yuro looked for a bit. “She’s flirting, but I think it’s currently not him she wants most. He’s asking her some serious questions. I’d say work related.” Yuro softly described both their behaviors. Erasmus listened without adding anything. The time they should part was approaching fast.

“She’s trying a bit too hard, I think, given she seems to escape a bad situation,” concluded Yuro. “Quite,” said Erasmus, “so how you’re going to help her out?” “What me?” flustered Yuro. “Well certainly. You think I’ve been educating you for yourself? Think again young man.” Erasmus patted Yuro on his arm. It was both a calming and stimulating to action move. “Go!” Yuro rose and walked half way and turned to his mentor. Erasmus made a small nudging gesture with his elbow and whispered “Nudge” under his breath. He observed Yuro walking past the woman and flirt very noticeable with her. Now it was her turn to be flustered. Yet somehow it changed the pattern of the conversation. The man protected her with a fierce look and then reassured her. She calmed down and blushed. Their contact had improved greatly now. Erasmus smiled. While Yuro had to walk on and leave the café, Erasmus wondered if they’d ever meet again.

Bernard, Washington D.C.~ Bernard Okerstone threw down his phone. This was already the 5th secretary in three months he lost. He knew it was him. He just couldn’t contain his anger. Funding threatened to go down and his job was on the line. Bernard opened his drawer for a sip of comfort. He better make some good deals fast to make up for his leadership flaws.

He looked sideways to a business card he had avoided thus far. The card portrayed Senator Collins with his hawkish nose and sergeants moustache in full colour. Everyone knew Collins was bad news, deeply corrupt and irregular with payments. But once he committed to something, he’d hardline it all the way. Okerstone lifted his heavy glasses from his nose and planted them at the side of his desk. He greased his last vestiges of hair flat on his head and picked up his mobile from the tick carpet it had landed in. He didn’t care anymore. Either this was going to be a win or a nose dive, for both himself and the foundation he worked for.

Jon, Washington D.C.~ Elkerton opened to front door of his house expecting his wife and kids to be ready for dinner. No sound. He walked towards the dining table and looked at the note. “You have an affair! I saw you with her at the office.” it said. Again. His wife’s suspicions became worse and worse. She must have watched the office while their children were at school. He sighed. This was the first time she had some reason to be suspicious. The face of Biance danced in front of his eyes.

He sank down on the coach, painfully removing a plastic truck from under his butt, before he could sink down. He called Eileen’s mother, but she wasn’t there. Then called her father, who got angry with Jon, before he could explain anything. It was clear from whom Colleen got that part of her nature. Perhaps he should start an affair just prove her right. Yet he knew her lawyers would eat him alive when he would. He sighed. Looking at the toys around the room he knew he would try to make up again. At that meant he’d have to let his new secretary go. Just to be safe if she’d visit his offices again. Damn. This Biance didn’t deserve this. She just left a safe job to work for him. He felt obliged to see what he could do for her.

Collins, Washington D.C.~ Senator Collins smiled. Finally a lobby group that wanted to spend more money on him. His extreme views had cost him, but the winds of change seemed to favour him for a bit. For a few votes in favour of protection of some agricultural giant, one that worried about snowflakes endangering their agricultural use of chemicals, he now had the funding he had wanted. Snowflakes apparently preferred hunger to sufficient crops, as the lobbyist had explained him. He hardly listened to the reasoning and focussed on his vision forward.

He now could set up a shadow group, that could spread his messages, without being found out. Because when his ideas would become more normal, he’d be the guy people would turn to. He walked out of his office into the park to make the call over a secure line. He better move fast, now there were some funds being transferred to his private offshore account.

A short conversation later he returned to his office, only to have a visitor waiting. It was his campaign manager. Elections were coming up and he would have a contender this year. That couldn’t happen. He just planted seeds for a further horizon. He and his campaign manager hid themselves in his office to find ways to deal with this challenger, some young upstart asshole called Finch.

Eric, Washington D.C.~ Barely four hours after Biance had called Donna proudly to announce her new job she called again. Eric listened patiently to his girlfriend explaining what had happened to Biance. He shook his head. He shifted back to his desk and screen when she was done. His graphic design for Fist Magazine had to be ready by 3am. While editing the pages he considered the cover. In the background Donna had started chatting about a new topic. It took him a moment to realise his affirmative grunts made no sense at all, as it became clear she was chatting to another friend on her phone.

Eric Nagano tied his long hair back into its bun and set to work. The cover had to be good. Perhaps he could use Biance’s story. Girl fired when wife gets jealous. The capricious way managers and rich people played with worker’s lives was enraging. Only he’d have to replace Biance for something more relatable to most of his readers, like an immigrant. He found an online picture of a couple looking for wedding rings. He replaced the rings on the desk of the jeweler with miniature professionals of all races and colours. To the husband he added a text cloud: “Darling if you don’t like Mexicans, we’ll just dump ‘m. No need to get upset over a brownie.”

Tony, Los Angeles~ Tony Flores opened the webpage of Fist Magazine and had to agree with the sentiments of the cover art. Mexicans, actually anyone with a little colour, could be discarded on a whim from their jobs. Racism had gotten rampant with their new scumbag president. Man, that idiot was an embarrassment for his new chosen country that got the whole world shaking their head in disgust and bewilderment. He almost wanted to go back to his native Panama. But as grassroots journalist he wanted to help make a difference. And the degrading of rights, or let alone justice actually caring for them, was clearly a theme that needed more attention.

After making some downtown appointments near Sunset boulevard Tony walked to his car. Before he entered his car he looked down at his clothes. He sighed and walked right back in. Even barely looking like a latino thug had become dangerous lately. He changed himself to more resemble an office clerk. For good measure he even added some pens to his breast pocket. He avoided looking in the mirror for fear of becoming disgusted with himself. That it was the police who made the streets unsafe for him was deeply worrying. But what was one little Panamees immigrant gonna do? Question some people. That was what.

Offin, Burke, Texas~ Offin Sneekers watched the webdesigner shape his new website. It was one that would make Collins proud. He planted his fists in his sides and bended a little forward. His modern semi-military gear did little to show him off as the Alpha of his foundation, the Montgomery Fellowship. The site looked different from all more obvious White nationalist propaganda sites. It had the appearance of a scientific foundation. Just enough little hints to attract the right people. ‘We protect and serve what is ours.’ the banner exclaimed. This site should make it possible to relay information to his network fast, before some libtard journalists would investigate deeper and be able to expose the real purpose of the fellowship.

Offin believed his race was in danger. Alex Jones might be raving mad, he had some good points at times. If the US didn’t soon get rid of all immigrants in whatever way, their power would be lost. The world was conspiring against the masters. Just for a moment he envisioned his network, a gang of uneducated backwater boys who were way too easily manipulated into ideas of glory through war. Yet, Hitler had started with less. And they did have a president on their side, even though it wasn’t yet the time he could declare such loudly. The signals were evident though. The original builders of this country would soon reign supreme. Offin dismissed all Native American history as an unfinished genocide. He rather dreamed of his own role and leadership in the new order.

Meager Elk, Los Angeles~ Meager Elk had by now accepted his Cheyenne name. He assumed there had to be some punishment for the level of whiteness in his skin and his blond hair. He had barely enough indigenous DNA to be accepted into the tribe. He suspected them seeing him too much as Whitey playing Indian. He had taken all their testing, teasing and insults with a fair amount of dignity. He didn’t like to admit it, but his choice to speak out for this side of his ancestry had mostly to do with his sense of guilt towards what his British and Scandinavian ancestors had done to his native family. And now this Tony guy deeply upset his calm.

Tony leaned back in the pillows of the hippy cafe where they had met. The interview about his work situation had turned sour. His long hands slipping his slender hair backward. “You really want me to answer that question?” “Yes,” Tony said, “What side will you take when it comes to violence? You speak out a lot for ‘your people’ but never once have you visited Standing Rock.” Meager Elk, or Scott Erikson for the rest of his family, sighed, “For now I hope all violence will be avoided.” Tony pressured on. “All violence avoided!? You mean current issues for your people aren’t violence? Injustices at Standing Rock aren’t violence? Destruction of the last remnants of your native culture isn’t violence?” Meager Elk sat straight, “I meant escalation, like civil war, of course. I will stand with them. I am standing with them. But my role is here in L.A.. I’m an artist. I do styling for Westerns, making sure they portray the Tribes the right way.” “I assume through what you learned from books..” Scott thought Tony was relentless. “That’s my income. I also do traditional arts, I seek to paint my people’s pride back into them.” Now Tony even laughed in his face. Meager Elk stood up. “My next work of art will impact our country!” he said, “that’s more than what your fledging network is doing.” He left the cafe in a rage.

Stella, Los Angeles~ Stella shook her head. “Weren’t you a bit harsh on the guy?” Tony sniffed while he put a twenty on the counter, “I thought he was a bit fake, didn’t you?” Stella slid the twenty in her cash register and shoved some change across the counter. She was happy Tony didn’t count it. All little bits had become essential to make it to next week. Her son would be home in an hour and she was facing another story of bullying by his classmates. The lack of good food had made him fat. But processed junk was all she could afford now to prevent him going to bed hungry. Lately she had started to pick on any kind of bullying. Once you started looking for it, you could find it everywhere.

Coming out of the bar later she found Meager Elk sitting next to his car. His anger had left him and he looked more desperate. “It doesn’t start,” he exclaimed. Stella asked where he lived. It turned out not too far from her home, but she told him they’d have to pick up her son first. If it wasn’t for the bully journalist she’d never offered him a ride. Thus she ended up driving two lost souls home. “That man is a real Indian, Tucker,” she tried to lighten the mood. Tucker didn’t reply. He looked more bruised than the day before. Even Meager Elk seemed to notice he was sitting next to somebody feeling worse than himself. “You ever tried art, Tucker? I’m an artist. Making art can help you in ways you’ll never expect.” All Tucker did was keep looking downward. “Wouldn’t you want to visit that nice man’s studio and help him out coming Saturday?” Stella said. Very slowly Tucker nodded a tiny yes. Stella perceived it as a giant victory.

2. Drift Wood

Realton, Washington D.C.~ “There’s those that see the world as a game of chess and those that try to do the right thing.” “Yes, that makes one uneven kind of a battle.” “For the people that do the right thing there might not be a battle. They might just perceive the path they seek to stay true to.” “Well, what choice do they have when the other side perceives it as such?” Realton and Wisemore sat at their customary places in the lobby of their motel. Two washed down writers who hardly sold anymore. Donna brought them two more drinks. “Guys, is all that thinking of yours ever gonna change anything?” she offered them. Realton Mcquire took up the drink, “You’re wrong there, girl. Shared thinking is mightier than the sword!” He swallowed his drink in one go. “Or the gun,” Carl Wisemore added. “Guys, don’t you think them chess players are thinking too? Especially them,” Donna retorted before walking away.

After Donna had closed up the lobby Realton walked back to his room. He was quite drunk. He felt it’d be hard to make the phone call to his son currently on Hawaii. He never quite knew what to say to him. He might ask him how ‘the good people’ could win. Realton was deeply convinced the ‘good people’ were locked in a battle with people who thought there was a game to win. Bad people who didn’t care one bit about the fate of all who suffered their ambitions. And, as Donna, had made him aware of, his side might even think way too little. He fumbled the key in the door and went in. The answering machine was blinking. It was a guy named Eric Nagona looking for an additional writer for his magazine. He said he had his name from Donna. He said it would pay lousy, but it might get him back in the light. Realton sank on the bed. Half an hour later his son called. By that time Realton was snoring on the bed, all his clothing still on.

Tucker, Los Angeles~ Tucker held out the drawing he made for Scott. It was a native American Totem, made up by animals biting down on famous brands. The drawing was rough and not really clear throughout, but Scott got the message. The Golden Arc of McDonalds snapped in two by a bear, an owl chocking? on a coke bottle, At&T pierced by bull’s horns, etc. Scott stroked the kids hair. He was turning out to be quite inventive. A bit direct, but perhaps more appealing than his own earlier work. “So?” Tucker said. Scott nodded slowly then more convincing, “Let’s do it! But I warn you son, you might get famous for it.”

Tucker walked into the shed to find materials. Inside he found a big cloth hanging over a large object. Because Meager Elk hadn’t followed him in, he took the liberty to unveil the work of art under it. It was a giant bottle of whiskey. Inside where almost life sized Native Americans trying to escape the bottle. The sadness on their faces was too awful to behold. “It’s called the second genocide,” said Scott, “It’s just that I can’t seem to find a museum or a gallery willing to display it.” “This one looks like you!” Tucker pointed out. “That’s my grandfather and my father and me.” Scott told him, “I’m the first to escape this curse thanks to my art. Now cover it up. It hurts to see it.” Tucker helped him replace the cover cloth. He couldn’t help but notice the tears on Scott’s cheeks.

Miss Cotty, Los Angeles~ When Miss Cotty Freeman returned home to her boyfriend he lay on the coach listening to music. She lifted his headphones up and kissed his ear. He smiled. They were still very much in love. “How’s going, dove?” Davit lifted his ass from the coach and followed Cotty to the kitchen. While she made tea, he cut some bread and smeared some garlic hummus all over it. “You know that fat boy I talked about, that I keep in class during lunches to prevent him being bullied?” Davit grunted approval. “He is finally doing better. Today he told me in the break that he is working with an artist. It seems this artist build a huge piece of art portraying what he calls the 2nd Native American genocide. Have you heard of that?”

Davit surprised her by wanting the boys number immediately. Ten minutes later he was gone to take a look. Cotty sat down when her eyes fell on a picture of Davit’s Armenian ancestors. The ones that had survived the Turkish genocide. No wonder he related to this art. Next to the picture stood the only one she had of her grandfather, whose grandfather had been a slave. So many wounds, so much healing still to be done. And it seemed there were way too few people acting to stop the suffering created by their government. She wished she had a gift for some kind of art. For now checking a pile of tests on spelling mistakes was her next assignment.

Jim Bob, Lakewood mobile home park, South Carolina~Jim Bob Morton thought himself smarter than people he knew. He studied online. The website of the Montgomery Fellowship had opened his eyes. Few of his fellow students at school even took it serious. And they were the victims, like him. His people were preyed upon by immigrants, Jews and foreign corporations. The might of America was at stake. Thieves and enemies were preying upon the might of his land. And when his people wouldn’t start to prepare, the big city libtards might give it all away. Even Fox news sounded too measly to him. He looked at the gun on his table. A plan started to ripen in his mind.

The 2nd amendment talked about militia’s for when the government didn’t fulfill its tasks. It was clear big parts of the government didn’t support president Trump, God’s chosen leader. They were out to harm their own people. The lead in the local drinking water proved the point. His home park had been drinking it for years. Now he and his mother had to get all their drinking water from Walmart, which they hardly could afford. Now was the time to start forming a militia, for when the President would lead his people to clean up shop. The Fellowship could sent him a booklet with guidelines as soon as he requested it. He smiled. He had purpose in his life.

Nicky, Cody, Wyoming~ The butt ugly face of her father didn’t deter Nicky Dasher ever. He might be a crook, a murderer and a prisoner for many years to come. He believed in her, like her mother never could, or would. It was strange to see him in a picture on her mother’s grave in happier times. There he was, arm in arm with the woman that had terrorised her these last years. As if she blamed their poverty as a matter of her father’s lack of capability to provide for his daughter. What a lie. It had been mostly due to her mother’s alcohol abuse. She stared down on her grave for a last time and followed her grandmother to one of the cars waiting to take them home. Her grandmother Iris put an arm around her shoulder. Nicky knew she wasn’t too happy about taking her in, but there was no one else who could.

She had already started to plan her escape to L.A.. She meant as soon as she finished high school she’d go there to become a star. Grace vanderWaal had been discovered earlier than her own 15 years, so she felt anything should be possible. As soon as Iris had gone shopping she put on some rapping and try to deliver her own lines. She’d trash the bitches at school who kept getting on her nerves for her havin’ no talent at all. “I bet none of you was born in a hospital. No wonder you all look so bad, so creepy anatomical. You bitches have nothing to show for yeselves. Your wiggly ears make you look like them queer elves. The colours of your skin may be chocolate milk, damn, where you feel like sandpaper, my touch is silk. So get back to your ilk. Man, you huddle so close I bet each of you is a dyke. With that, I drop, this mike.” She smiled. It was fun to be this sharp. The only think she didn’t like was her father’s letter later that day. She got the bit about finishing school, but wtf did he mean with doin’ stuff that mattered. Mattered for whom? The country was fucked anyway.

Jesse, Amsterdam, the Netherlands~ As soon as he saw the picture he knew it would go viral. It showed a glass bottle with three Indians, no, he should say Cheyennes, in it trying to escape the bottle. It was called the 2nd Genocide. Jesse’s lost an uncle to the booze too. And few companies seemed to care what they sold and what it did to their clients. Jesse did some online research and send an email to the guy who made the work of art. If he could obtain the rights to show the picture in his article on corporate crimes and US corruption he might help, what he himself called the Shift.

Later that day Jesse met up with some of his network on Zoom. They discussed the madness of Drumpf. It seemed many of his friends at home felt a lot of despair. Jesse felt he had little reason to be longing for home. All he could do was write for them and listen to them. There had to be a plan possible to turn things right. But who else then a few were really interested? Wellman had said his father had asked a similar question a few days before. How could the ‘good guys’ win? Jesse wondered who the ‘good guys’ were. And how they could find each other? Because every day the news showed him a sinking ship called USA. Damn, now he was getting depressed too.

Officer Langley, Chicago~ The dead body of the junk wasn’t a pretty sight. One of their bullets had taken most of his jaw away. Josh Langley fingerprinted a small gun with the junk’s hand. Then he planted it next to him, so it would show self defence for him and his buddy. For good measure he put a packet of cocaine in the side pocket of the Junk’s jacket. Romanski turned the black guy back on his belly as they had found him. Langley was happy to have seen needle marks in his arm. With all the stories about police killings he wasn’t waiting for the news this one was another brilliant kid who happened to be at the wrong time the wrong place. They’d be fucked if that was the case. This Black Lives Matter people were blind to the fact of how dangerous their profession was, how often they faced death and guns in the hands of madmen, junks, criminals and idiots seeking suicide by cop.

Romanksi called in the gunfight. Langley set down on the hood of their car. He lifted his cap and scratched his head and looked down at his belly. Them donuts might be the death of him as much as some stray bullets. He walked around the car and checked his gun. Looking at the evening sun, he tried to forget the shooting, but the paperwork would be awful and his Black captain wouldn’t be easy either. He kicked the car and thought of a video he’d seen about policing in England. It seemed de-escalating situations created a lot less violence. Only the bad guys over there didn’t have machine guns, like here. Him thinking about all this made him wonder. Was there any trace of guilt and worry about what he and Romanski just did?

Brittany, Fort Lauderdale~ She sat on the floor, crying. Not even four months ago her younger sister had been killed in the infamous Stoneman Douglas High school shooting. And Trump had done nothing. She had voted for the bastard. And now this. She just had slipped on the floor and her ankle looked awful. It looked twisted, quite unreal even, like it wasn’t even her own foot attached underneath. The pain told her otherwise. She hardly had any insurance, because Trump had promised they would get something better soon, which also didn’t happen. Without insurance, without funds to take a break she was screwed. Her grief outwon her pain for a bit. She cried. Loudly.

Esteban Lopez, her manager, took her from the floor of the cabin they had been cleaning and put her outside on a sturdy picnic table. Then he went in muttering to clean up the rest of the cabin himself. “Should I bring you home or to the hospital?” he asked her with more empathy than she heard him ever utter before. “To the hospital, for fuck’s sake!! It’s broken! What do you think!” she screamed. Esteban backed off as if stung. He thought it safer to first drive his car up as close as possible. When they drove down to boulevard he told her without looking at her face, “You understand I’ll have to let you go know, don’t you. When you can work again, let me know. But I’m not going to hold a position for you open. My budget is as tight as it is.” Brittany was too much in hurt to smirk at that remark, coming from a guy driving a hybrid Acura.

Burt, Standing Rock~ The hitchhiker he picked up just after Selfridge was sniffing the air. They’d been riding a good while now and Burt Everest was still unsure this guy. He didn’t look like one of them protestors, nor like an official. “Oil spill, dammit, right where they promised it wouldn’t happen,” Burt offered. The hitchhiker looked up. “You mean, they screw everyone here and then fu..mess it up, with the eyes of the whole nation upon them?” Burt nodded. He noticed the guy was trying to be polite by avoiding ‘fuck’. He’d give him that. “You know, son, them eyes are loong gone. You a tourist or what?” Burt had also heard a slight accent he couldn’t place. “No, I’m a Canadian on a tight budget moving home after college. I thought I might at the least get some sights out of it.” “Where you study?” Burt commanded. “Ah, a more interesting question would be, what did I study?” said the Canadian.

When he came home he found Janine quite excited. “You know that official that was here, he came back. If we want we can move our cattle into the nature reserve for a little donation, he slipped to me,” Janine let him know. Burt took a beer from the fridge and walked it to his favorite chair, “You know, Sweetie, I wonder about that. It somehow starts to feel wrong. You, know us taking advantage of this goddamn evil bunch that took over. If they wanna be corrupt as hell, fine. But I’m done playin’ with them.” Janine froze for two reasons. That was the longest speech Burt had offered in years and he suddenly sounded way too much like a Democrat. “I’m talking about good money we can make here, Burt. You are not throwing that away, you hear me!” she shouted after him, in her high pitched voice as he moved onto the porch to be alone for a bit. That Canadian had got him thinking. And he felt so damn rusty in that area.

Jolly, Chicago~ When she found her dad at breakfast she ran to hug him. Her father smiled bleakly and took another bite. Her mother shrugged at her and pointed her to her chair. “Father had a difficult night, honey,” she said. Jolly danced with all the optimism of a 7 y.o. to her seat and climbed on it. “Daddy, will you come to school and tell how you catch crooks. That would be awesome.” Josh smiled as best as he could. Career Day, damn. He really wasn’t in the mood to tell about his efforts to keep Chicago safe. It might make matters worse if the media would give it the wrong kind of attention. He also found looking in the eyes of Jolly harder and harder. The piercing trust in her eyes was slowly breaking down his walls.

Jolly ran before her mother up the stairs of her school. Her friends were already screaming about Sam’s new dress. It was an amazing blue with some pink spots. “Jolly!” Linda screamed. The other girls turned towards her and Jolly let her success know. “He’ll be in class tomorrow and tell all about all the crooks he has put into prison!” “Noo way!” “He really is a cop!?” Only Elfy and Beyonce kept quiet. Even Jolly in all her excitement noticed. “Elfy? What about your dad?” Jolly asked. Her mother watched with pride how her daughter took the lead in showing empathy towards a less fortunate classmate. She also knew the twins wouldn’t be able to bring their dad. A cop much like Jolly’s father had put him in jail for way too long. A thought she thought didn’t fit, given her husband and all.

Charles, Detroit~ Charles had a terrible fit. He felt this new secretary of education was breaking the spirit of what they tried to do here. He threw all his papers around the office. Sally looked from the door in, but didn’t intervene. She understood. Their funding, for an already deeply under-budgeted public school was going to be cut beyond reason for not performing to stupid standards. Like no one cared that they worked to keep some civilisation alive in one of the worst neighbourhoods in town. Christ, for the first time in years had he lost control over his dignity. When he looked up he saw Sally having tears in her eyes. That stopped him. He sat down, crumpling more papers in the chair as it was. “We have to call in all staff now and organise a parent meeting soon. I’m not going to take this lying down,” he said.

All the teachers in the room fell quiet as Charles Dunbar walked in. He moved as slowly as he dared to keep the spell of seriousness in the room. He removed his reading glasses from his nose and laid them carefully on another overstuffed desk beside him. “You may have heard..,” he began. Faces opposite him looking at each other to confirm or wonder what he was talking about. “..that I had a fit. Man, I tell you, it almost cost me a heart attack. So to make it deeply clear, I am not calm about this, nor am I not caring.” His voice was as steady as ever when he uttered these words. Now he had everyone’s full attention. Bad news was coming. Only his Mexican math teacher seemed not to be fully grasping where this might go. “Our school as it is, has gotten a death sentence. We get killed in spite of all our efforts of not giving up.” The shocked faces in front of him told him, they all cared. Whether it was for income and or trying to make a difference. He needed them all to make a stand with him.

3. Cascade

Peter, Washington D.C.~ The story fascinated him. He just bumped into her at his friend Eric’s birthday party. This Biance, a highly stylised plastic blonde friend of his friends partner Donna just quit a job for a corrupt political lobby group. He wondered if she’d want to talk about it. Apparently she had hope for a new one, as a new employer had fired her within a day, but was helping her with finding something else. This Jon got her on the guest list of a high status network event, no one he knew ever got entry into. Peter suggested and hinted he might have a small job for her, for money if she’d be willing to be a bit of an undercover journalist for him. It made her highly insecure, so he raised his offer a little bit.

Ricky, Los Angeles~ Ricky told his mates they’d better not tease Tucker anymore. He was getting famous and already had told in one interview about how he had been bullied at school. The artist he worked with was getting a lot of attention for a piece of crap about drunken Indians. Ricky didn’t tell his mates he was now trying to be an artist too. At home he started to make tattoo designs and graffiti. If a loser like Tucker could get the materials gifted to build a stupid ass totem, then a winner like him should be able to get so much more. He only had to think of the shocker he’d spread around town. Through Googling he found Banksy.

Haley, Tulsa~ As she packed her backpack Haley looked upon her room. The time of boy bands was gone. She’d be learning to be a soldier and fighter for her race. Soon the conspiracy against the conspiracy would lift off and all those that helped suppress their righteous power would pay the price. God willed it. Her boyfriend Hank honked the horn in front of her house. “Be careful in camp!” her mother warned as she left the house. Her mother always looked worried. She was too much member of the sheeple who didn’t know she could be free like her. Hank honked the horn for good measure as they kissed. They waved both to her mother and sped off. Hank honking again as they turned the corner and got out of sight. Weird to think she needed to put on a safety belt now, while she left all safety behind.

Thomas, Washington D.C.~ Thomas Wisemore read his friends first political column in years with great interest. He did agree with very little, but he admired the fire in it. He looked up from the printout and lifted his reading glasses onto his forehead. “Man, I’m jealous!” he said, “would this Eric guy let me write something too?” “Sure,” Realton responded, “I’ll ask him when I see him. We have a coffee this afternoon. Perhaps you can join.” Thomas felt his heart surge. It touched him that his friend would share his new opportunity with him. “Just know that my writing may conflict with yours.. A lot.” Realton smiled. It was good to see his friend get a bit more alive again.

Davit, Los Angeles~ Davit’s help to get Meager Elk’s work noticed had started him to read into the Native American genocide. A 100 million people murdered was estimated. Fuck. And the government had never ever offered anything even close to an apology. They had broken all 500+ treaties. Might makes right seemed to rule everywhere. No wonder these people, for a moment not noticing how he excluded himself from his homeland, chose a bully as president. The Armenian genocide seemed peanuts compared to this one. It all overwhelmed him. When Cotty came home from school she found Davit laying backward on bed, staring blindly towards the ceiling. She held him for two hours before he felt he could move again.

Elly, Detroit~ As soon as Elly Waters got home she started to call the parents of her pupils. Charles’ meeting had shaken up all of the staff at Moore high school. In half the cases the parents hardly responded, even when she got them on the phone. It maddened and worried her. The desperation that so clearly was taking its toll on her neighbourhood, could be so infecting to her children. She daren’t shout at these parents, though she felt like it. Luckily some mothers got the message. They were deeply fed up with all the damage done to their community. They longed to have a direction for all their bottled up resentment towards their government.

Ramsey, near Harvey Arkansas~ Big Ramsey walked out to the first campers. His father had been a Vietnam veteran and after losing half a leg had been dumped by his government. The anger emanating from his father, he had to live with for most of his live, he now aimed at the Deep State manipulating his country into senseless wars. “Welcome campers! Welcome freedom fighters, so good to see you here.” He spread his arms wide and smiled. From an old truck a young guy stepped who didn’t smile back. “My name is Jim Bob Morton and I called this camp into being.” “Isn’t that right, boy?” Ramsey answered. He took the kid by the neck and steamed a heavy take of tobacco in his ear, “Listen kid, now you may have started this, but now better let the real boys take the lead. What do you say?” He squeezed Jim Bob’s neck for good measure to make the point.

Janine, Sundance Golf Club, Wyoming~ Esther Banks hit a tree and her golf ball flipped into the high grass. Janine did hardly do better, narrowly missing the high grass, but still far from home. She was still pissed at Burt. While they moved up to their balls, Janine spilled her beans, “You know, now that we have a government that cares about the people, Burt ain’t using it. That man can be so damned stubborn. We could have our cattle grazing Roosevelt park.” Esther hardly listened. She was wondering if she dared share she found her husband wearing her dress a week ago. She feared if it got out she’d lose her last bit of standing, now people also knew her name was Jewish, and so was her mother. Janine looked at her friend looking for the ball. “I know Endfield preached last sunday we should serve our husbands, but how do we protect them from their own stupidity?” “Yes, how can we control them?” Esther echoed looking for her ball.

Ashley, Cody, Wyoming~ “You know what matters?” Ashley said with the conviction of a 15 year old, “that our teachers work for us, and not we for them!” “Whaddayamean?” Nick Dasher gave back while chewing gum. “You know, they tell us to do stuff all the time, but they are hired to work for us, if you think about it. They must educate us. That’s their job, and if they fail, we fail. We should demand them more listenin’ to us!” Ashley got riled up by her own reasoning. She retied her long brown hair behind her back. Nicky wasn’t convinced. “My father wanted me to do something that matters. Not have me protest our teachers I think.” “The fuck, Nick! If our freedom doesn’t matter, what does?” Ashley blasted back. At that moment their bullies entered the hallway and no school staff was in sight.

Sgt. Parker, High Desert Prison, Nevada~ When his manager placed the report on the table Will Parker knew the drill. “Look Parker, your task is to guard and the diminish costs. If we have prisoners stab each other, we either need to lap them up or replace them. Even the judges who work for us, cost money. So all I wanna know is, is how the hell, this Dasher got into the sickbay?” Sgt. Parker lifted his shoulders, “Word is, he got a bit weak. Another guy wanted his spot on the aperock.” “Fuck, Parker, Dasher is one of the meanest out there. So who gave them this idea, some infighting would be a good idea?” “Sir, with all due respect, we may control some gang tensions, so they may care more about each other than us, but whatever we do, they keep having a mind of their own.” “Well, perhaps we should ask ourselves how we can take that away as well then, Parker” his manager, Roy Bateson smirked.

Apisi, Standing Rock~ Apisi didn’t know what to say to the guy. A big burly old farmer stood with his cap in hand looking way to meekly at him. He’d seen the guy being passed onwards as if no one knew what to do with the guy. “So hi Burt. What you’re seeking here? You know this isn’t a holiday camp?” said Apisi. Apisi made barely 30 and was kind of tasked to keep filling in gaps that fell in the organising, gaps like this Burt guy. “Well, eh this may sound weird, but I’m looking to know what a heyokah is.” The question surprised Apisi. “Hahah, no wonder they send you to me.” “You’re one?” Burt asked. “No, way! But my name means Coyote, you know the smart and cunning animal.” Apisi looked at Burt and reckoned he might consider them a pest. “Okay Burt, follow me, I’ll help you find one, and explain along the way.” While they trodded the camp Apisi found some hope in the fact that this man dared to enter their world. He wondered what had triggered him.

Simon, Los Angeles~ Simon Park crossed his arms and considered Tony. “So you insulted this artist, after which he gets famous for some reason, and now you can’t interview him?” Tony heaved his arms in the air, like he was an innocent. “Tony, listen man, you got to be nicer to people! Or I have to let you go! So take a training! Go learn social skills, man. You can be a sharp journalist all you like, but not make enemies, you get that?” Tony sighed. He knew he had been caught out this time. Simon withdrew a business card from behind his desk and shoved it to Tony across the table. “She’s single too, so please man, let some magic unfold and come back a changed man.”

Maude, Salt Lake City~ She was a bit gruffy at her first customer that day, a hitchhiker. He kept walking around while she backed him eggs. “You got trouble keeping your diner running, lady?” Maude saw him stroke a finger through the dust on top of the broken jukebox. “You looking for work?” she demanded with some suspicion of being played. “Not me,” he said. “What you up to then?” Maude demanded. “I just met this veteran, he’s looking for work. He’ll take anything I think. And he had a good gleam in his eyes. He even shared a sandwich with me.” Maude thought of the bills and of losing customers due to long waiting times. When Yuro brought in the homeless veteran half an hour later she kept her word and give him a chance. She wouldn’t be sorry.

Stephen, New York~ “So, how to keep ourselves safe from the pitchforks, when the country falls apart?” “He really said that?” Robert Mulhoon asked. “Indeed he did,” Stephen replied, “Man, don’t these misguided billionaires see they should save the planet, rather than seek to flee it, or only save themselves?” “Were this Musk and Branson guys there too?” a blonde girl asked. Stephen raised his hands, “Non-disclosure act.” “Ah, shit man, you can tell me.” Robert pushed on. Stephen Deloitte looked around the circle that followed the conversation. He winked at the blonde. “Good thing nobody else is listening,” and patted Robert on the back, “Now if you excuse me, I need to get to know this lady better.” He took Biance by the arm and guided her towards the bar of the network event.

Victoria, Los Angeles~ When Cottie came to her house, she told Cottie about what just happened to her niece in Denver; how they might lose their school because of Betsy deVos. Cottie sat down and looked tired. She told Victoria how Davit got into a depression the day before. It looked like reason was beleaguered in their country. Victoria felt she needed to be strong for her friend. “We should stop thinking locally. This is about all of us. All educators should unite and protest this money first beast.” Cotti nodded. Her half smile was good enough for Victoria to continue. “You know, for all their gimmicks and branding, the Nazi’s were just thugs and thieves. It’s the same with these people leading us now. We just must find a way to expose it.” Cottie frowned. “Don’t we all know that already?” “Do we?” asked Victoria.

No name, no location offered~ The agent on duty listened in to the redaction meeting of RT television network. The agent had to stop himself from agreeing with their logic. These were Russian agitators, his mission was to expose them, when they made a mistake. For now their freedom of speech was accepted, their amount of listeners too small to matter. He opened his wrapped up sandwich, his new girlfriend had made for him. They hadn’t slept together yet. He had claimed it was religion, except it wasn’t. He couldn’t tell the real reason, as there was the matter of his boyfriend. A friend that could get him fired if anyone ever knew. And unlike this Snowdon guy, he didn’t ever want to live in Russia. He loved his country too much.

No names, no location offered~ The men around the table all looked at the screens before them. Red points meant what they called Q-camps. These were all camps where Q agitators, preppers, all kinds of right winged semi military groups gathered and trained. The amount of red seemed to spike the last few months. Black spots meant liberal protests, mainly by the poor, Black lives matter, #me too and all that shit. There were many of those too, though only the ones with a yellow ring were getting any media attention. These seemed to grow in number too. They looked less in number as they only took protests with over 50 people that kept going over a number of days into account. Big data turned out to be a great help in keeping the balance.

This is part 1 of a novel. If you want more just shout in the comments. :)