“Get on the ground! Get on the ground! ON THE GROUND! NOW!”
They’d come in through every entrance in the building, each door blown in with explosive charges seconds before dozens of armored soldiers came crashing through the rubble.
“DOWN! DOWN! DOWN! DOWN ON THE FLOOR!” they shouted, pointing frightening looking weapons at me. I quickly got on my stomach, fingers interlaced behind my head like we were taught in grade school to do when this happened.
“What’s going on?” I attempted to say, face in the rug. A foot came down on my back hard, stomping the wind out of me.
“Produce your Papers now, sir.” said one of the faceless drones, kicking me.
“I’d have to get up- they’re in-”
“Federal Law requires that you have your legal Identification and Registration Papers on you and/or on your person at ALL times!”
“I’m in my own home. I–”
“Interrupting a Federal Peace Love and Justice Officer is a Federal Criminal Offense!”
“There he goes again!”
The butt of a weapon came down on my shoulder painfully.
While this was going on, other soldier/cops began tearing up my living space, pocketing many of my possessions with impunity.
“Where are your Papers? Statute 2363276242462.5621 of the Free Citizen Patriotic Legal Code dictates that all citizens of Freedomopolis living in Liberty City must carry their Official City State and Federal Representation and Identification Documents at every and all times–”
“Dresser” I tried again, face now muffled even more with the foot on the back of my head. My neck hurt and I was still dazed by the concussion of their initial entry charges and the beating I’d been given.
My dresser was thrown to the ground, and several of the men smashed it open from the back rather than opening the drawers. When it was entirely destroyed they began to kick through the remnants, searching.
I tried to remain silent.
“I am checking the refrigerator for drugs and/or terrorist activity of a refrigerated nature,” said one of the men, helping himself to the sandwich I’d meant to have for lunch.
I began to respond, but the guy standing on my head ground his foot down harder.
“When we want you to talk, We will direct you to do so, sir!”
“Shut up!” said the soldier who only seemed to know those two words.
Not sure what was being referred to, and afraid to ask, I said nothing and was rewarded with another kick.
“I’M TALKING TO YOU ASSHOLE SIR!”
“I don’t know what you’re asking. My face is in the rug–”
“No, Ted, I asked him a question.”
“Yeah, go on outside and see what you can find.”
“Shut up.” He left through the hole in my back wall.
I was turned over so my head pointed up. My face was bleeding.
A hardcover book was slammed down on the bridge of my nose.
“It’s a… it’s a book. It’s just a book I–”
“1984 by George Harvey Oswald- the very same man who murdered former President Albert Lincoln in his sleep with an Illegal Firearm. You DO realize that this is Unnatural and Illegal Literature, don’t you sir?”
“I didn’t know, I’ve never read it, It’s an antique. It belonged to my father I–”
“Shut up?” said the man who’d gone outside, sticking his head back in through the hole where my back door had been. He held a garden hose in one hand, a flower pot in the other.
“No, Ted, those are legal possessions for this freecitizen to possess in his possession. Keep looking while I question this freecitizen about his ALLEGED Subversive Activities.”
“Shut up.” he disappeared again.
“You’ll have to forgive him, sir. He’s new.”
Several of the men were now pissing on my belongings. Others began smashing anything that could be smashed: glassware, windows, kitchen fixtures. Everything.
My primary interrogator was handed my freecitizen portfolio by one of the other thugs. He glanced at it briefly then threw it out the broken window.
“Why are you here? What did I do?”
“You know the answer to that, freecitizen sir. You tell me.”
Still afraid to speak, I said nothing.
“ANSWER THE QUESTION!”
“I don’t know! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Shut up?” This time the man outside was holding a shovel.
“No, Ted– that’s a shovel.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Want?” the man looming over me glared suspiciously, foot on my chest. “What do you have? Are there Illegal Substances residing and/or being retained in this freecitizens domicile?”
“What? no! What is it you want from me? Why are you here? I didn’t do anything!”
“Everybody is guilty of SOMETHING, sir. Why you yourself are harboring an Illegal item of Illegal And Dangerous Illegal Subversive Literature. Do you think we knew that when we came in here, sir? No, we did not. But we are here and we found it and the fines are substantial.”
He pulled out a ticket book and quickly filled out several pages.
Other jackboots were now standing in my kitchen area chatting and sipping coffee through straws fixed to their shiny black face plates.
Shortly my inquisitor separated several tickets from the book, leaving the receipts in place.
“Not now, Irving, I am serving this freecitizen with information and court dates at which by the Harsh and Unbreakable Laws of our Free Society he must make an appearance and pay substantial fines or he will be incarcerated. Do you understand, sir?”
“Who’re you talking to?” asked Irving.
“Well it was you, but then I directed my attention and awareness to this Subversive Criminal freecitizen.”
“Sorry, I can’t see your eyes through the mask. I didn’t know where you were looking…”
“That’s enough, Irving.” Rough hands stuffed a wad of citations into the breast pocket of my coveralls. “You will be required to attend these hearings on these dates to answer for your crimes against the state, humanity, and our Freesociety of laws and orders. We’ll be on our way now, freecitizen.”
“Let’s go.” Everyone grabbed whatever of mine they could carry and left the building. I heard Irving talking on the way down, as I lay on my kitchen floor bleeding and bruised.
“Yeah I got a text that we were at the wrong house. The numbers were transposed.”
“Fine by me. I love doing this shit. It is a privilege to serve as a Federal Peace Love and Justice Officer.”
“Protect and Serve! Hoo-AH!”
“We did serve that freecitizen doubleplusgood though, right?”
And they were gone.
They’d forgotten to take my copy of 1984.
I burned it later in the yard.
© 2015, e eric vulgate. All rights reserved.