The year is 2045. I’m on my forced march to an internment camp along with every other person of color under president Bloodfeast’s new directive. We march every day from dawn to sunset, longer when the moon is full. The soldiers yell. It’s 5AM, time to move. Exhausted, I am slow to get up.
The guard strolls over quickly, annoyed. He kicks me in the stomach, points his bayonet at me, and shouts
“Don’t blame me, blame the Stein voters, and the Bernie Bros. If you had voted for Hillary this wouldn’t be happening!”
I get up and walk. I am fortunate. People have been killed for less.
The year is 2045. I’m on my forced march to an internment camp along with every other person of color under president Bloodfeast’s new directive. We march every day from dawn to sunset, longer when the moon is full. The soldiers yell. It’s 5AM, time to move. Exhausted, I am slow to get up.
The guard strolls over quickly, annoyed. He kicks me in the stomach, points his bayonet at me, and shouts
“Don’t blame me, blame the Stein voters, and the Bernie Bros. If you had voted for Hillary this wouldn’t be happening!”
I get up and walk. I am fortunate. People have been killed for less.