I wrote this before when I was a little angry and revolution-making... For the first time, there's no gay character. A straight one actually OO Read and review!

“BIRTH CONTROL IS A LIE

“BIRTH CONTROL IS A LIE!” Sama yelled, fighting the uniformed men who’d gotten onto the makeshift podium and getting back to the microphone. “Research planned parenthood! Research eugenics and the Nazis! EIGHTY PERCENT OF THE WORLD IS SCHEDULED TO DIE! Don’t trust—” he’d been hit over the head with a baton, but he kept screaming, even as he slowly fell into unconsciousness while fighting the men.

“Big Brother is watching your asses! All of you! The New World Order is coming sooner than you think! The Bilderberg Group—” at that point, a crack split the air and Sama’s face went from handsome and framed by thick black dreadlocks to gone in an instant. Red liquid—blood! It was blood!—blood squirted from the bottom half of his face that was still there and the guards no longer had to fight. They simply looked up to the top of the tall hotel opposite the protest site and put up the AOK sign.

I looked up and saw a figure atop the roof. I never thought the sun could be ugly, but that day, its light was twisted and wrong in every way. It seemed to be in support of what was going on, for it made the black rifle in the snipers possession gleam like a miniature light source. If I had the time, if I had the privilege, I would have vomited.

But instead, I became aware the screaming and rioting that ensued after the first bullet in series of bullet rain began. Some people tried to leave, pushing others out of their way. Some people tried to fight, turning on anyone in misguided attempts to strike an enemy. I was neither a runner nor a fighter. I was a reporter. And I had a story to get.

And like most broke-ass reporters who refuse to align themselves with bullshit newspapers and government-fed stations, I was also my own photographer and videographer. But I wasn’t stupid. My camcorder, hidden in my jacket with a cutout for the lens, had seen everything I had. And everything I’d seen would be put on youtube and my anonymous website. And it would show the whole story, unlike the cameraman’s thousand-dollar standard-issue newscam that would cut out all the unfavorable parts and spin the story into something it wasn’t.

My suspicion was correct. The next morning as I stood at the newsstand for my coffee and bagel, I saw the paper with the headline: “REBEL MURDERED, GUNMAN UNKNOWN: Angry Rioters To Blame.”

“Gunman unknown, my ass,” said a black-haired woman who sipped her black coffee bitterly. Her accent was definitely Russian. “His face is all over youtube.”

I smiled, clearing my throat. As I stirred cream into my hot coffee, I said “You know, I put it on youtube.”

She stared at me as if I were some sort of bacteria. I had never felt so small. And then a smile broke out on her face.

“You are ThirdTwinTower89?” she asked, her black eyes unbelieving. Then she pulled the scarf around her neck up to cover her mouth and she blasted a small radio. An old anonymity technique to distort the voices of the speaker from spies. “You’ll get a message tonight. Open your mail with a proxy server so it is not traced.”

That night, at the stroke of eleven, I opened my youtube mailbox in the proxy server I usually reserved for porn—mind your own damn business! Don’t judge me!—and I got the best message of my life. It read:

Anyone who wanted to stay alive during the New World Order and not be a part of the herd of sheeple that will be controlled by a global governing system should meet in the cellar of 92 Lexington Avenue, Brooklyn, New York in four hours.

PS: They would also bring coffee beans and no cream. Real revolutionaries drink their coffee as bitter as the world around them. No Emo.

Signed, Lady Oppressed