today's secret message

today's secret message

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


The terrorists have cut the telephone lines over in Iraq and the rioters here at home have clogged the entrances in front of the stores on Black Friday to get their message across to raise your consciousness. Sounds like they have been industrious and busy so early this Black Friday morning.

Judge not them too harshly for their lives also have their discontents and inconveniences. They have to hitch a ride to the demonstration, or worse take a cross town bus. Buses are always late and it's hard on the knees and joints to stand out in the cold wind waiting to go to work. While you are on the bus you always have to keep your eyes down so you don't startle or frighten anyone and you can't appear to smile when you notice a very old couple or child doing something agelessly human.

Then there's the trouble about a place to live. Out of work again with no one in the family who will put them up. All their good personal stuff has been lost or chipped up in the frequent moves lately. Over in Iraq one who is with the cause saddens to find his favorite Indian blanket has been cut up for bandages for fallen comrades.

And the matter of the food is quite unsettling. No one is enough connected anymore to know their few favorite delicacies. Mostly for them it's communal food from a gigantic pot served on Styrofoam plates. No one proposes a toast to the cause anymore; changing and criticizing the world has become so passé lately.

Sometimes a terrorist over in Iraq or a rioter here at home just wants a young child to ask them what kind of work do you do Sir? or How did you get that scar on your forearm Mr. bad guy? It's hard sometimes to always be an outlaw and to be constantly on the run.To be out in the cold is really to be nowhere

Riding the bumpy bus with the strong carbon monoxide smell while very tired late at night after terrorizing in Iraq or rioting here in America a demonstrator will roll his eyes when he hears the secret sadness in someone's voice when they tell another story about how one of their neighbors got really wealthy by buying things on the cheap and selling them so-so dear to the good folks down the lane.

What's it about Holidays that are so universal? When you were a kid you saw things with one set of eyes and now that you are a tad too much the wiser you see the same wonderful stuff differently.

Yes sir, sometimes it seems like we know the ending to this Play we are watching before it's really over; Never the less we are grateful just to be here. Thanks to the few supporters of our secret and unheralded mass movement.