Town Hall

A Microfiction

“Freedom of Speech,” oil on canvas by Norman Rockwell, 1943.

“Ma’am, toward the back in the flannel, you wanted to say something?”

“Oh, yes, thank you, sir. I’m new here, well not to town, but to things with…um…people, as many of you may know. My granddaughter really pestered me to come out but I wasn’t exactly tickled by the idea. Folks round here’ll tell you that I’m a lady who’ll give you what for. But I do care about Lincoln, been here my whole life and that’s pretty much the way it’s been for my whole line, forward and back. Well, excepting Jimmy of course. He always did have that wander lust.”

“Anyway, I noticed earlier when that young man was talking about the murder of his sister, he used one of them trigger warnings. My granddaughter just explained those to me and I guess I can see why y’all use them these days. And at the end, you thanked him for using it. You said you thought using those warnings was considerate to the community here. And then you very kindly shared some words of encouragement with him, talked about your experience in your church, your faith in god, and the importance of your mission. I really felt your sincere beliefs in those words.”

“Thank you, ma’am, I appreciate your observation and compliments to what I said.”

“Sir, you…”

“Yes?”

“I’m not sure you got my meaning, or I didn’t get it all out yet.”

“Please, go on.”

“I’ll keep it short, councilman, or is it reverend? With all due respect, ain’t no murderer more depraved and vicious than your god and the members of that church acting in his name. You folk spew the most vile hate we see round here, but you cloak it in something that sounds like love. If you speak of that church or your god again, I’m gonna need the loudest, brightest trigger warning you can muster so I can get my old, fat ass outta here before I explode from hypocrisy by proxy.”

@travistriespoetry

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