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Resistance

July 2nd, 2020

As I sit here in the dark, I contemplate all the factors we have tipped into our favor. Tripwires wired to alarms, selective sabotage making hallways impassible, anti-personnel mines placed at choke points, and perhaps most useful of all is the weapon caches scattered through the defensive perimeter. We are ready. I am part of a five man “team”, and I use that term loosely, of resistance fighter’s h*ll bent on preventing the occupation of our land. Our team is made up of an ex-con, a retired army ranger’s weapons specialist, a panic stricken shadow of a man, a defector we picked up a few days back, and me. We are only identifiable by our white, blue, and red bandanas tied around our forearms. We have taken this location of great importance to our cause and the morale of the population. The sun has risen, revealing the shattered hellscape that is left of this necropolis. The smoke from fires has tainted the pure sunlight into a hellish red-orange color. Bodies litter the street. Bodies of civilians and of military, people tossed like animals to rot. Kill squads roam the streets looking building to building for the resistance. So as I sit here, in what remains of the White House I look out the window and remember why we fight, why I fight. They murdered my people. Innocent people, killed for no purpose at all. I don’t dwell on this. I pick up my rifle and walk out of the room to continue our fight for freedom.





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