The IncidentPosted: December 11, 2015
This is an experiment. I am attempting to get the essence of a story without the extraneous. Trust the reader to fill in the blanks. The original (you can read here) was almost 1,500 words. This is less than 600. Feedback is welcome.
James called the FBI tip line 3 months and 18 days before the terrorist attack.
He had never liked Aahil, but seeing him huddled in whispered tones with Farhan and some other sand-nigger from the accounting office, he was sure they were planning something.
So he reported them.
It had been a tough few years, but James was strong. He just needed a fair shake. Cheryl was a shrew. He would never hit a woman who didn’t deserve it, and she did. She twisted it all in the court and got the kids.
The day she cost him his job, James went home and broke his hand against the wall.
America was in danger, but he had done his part.
As he ran the press, James imagined how the national news would interview him once they were arrested. His kids would see his heroism, realize how wrong their mother had been, know he was a hero.
Days faded into a week, and the week stretched into weeks.
Why is Aahil still coming to work each day?
Maybe the FBI were staking him out. Following his every move. Bugging his phones. That’s probably it.
Weeks turned into a month. Then two.
He called again. Can you give me an update on the investigation? Why can’t you comment?
He began to wonder if even the FBI were blind to the real threat.
He began taking his Ruger to work. After a couple days it occurred to him if these cave dwellers started something, it would take him a few minutes to get his gun from his locker.
He fashioned a duct-tape holster beneath the press. It made him feel powerful. I’m The Protector, he smiled to himself.
Before he left for the day, he secreted it away again in his belt.
James had time to think. Every day the monotonous ca-thunk of the press was white noise. Every night a six pack in darkness.
What would wake America up? Terrorists strike Paris then California. Attacks planned for years. No action.
The Planned Parenthood shooter wasn’t crazy. He simply hadn’t made his point in a reasonable way. He needed a clear message composed ahead of time.
How to protect America? The answer was blindingly simple: Swift, decisive action. Round up Muslims and make sure they have no ability to harm others.
James knew he was smart. Late nights he mapped out a plan. He wrote it in the notebook he kept on his nightstand, next to his AR-15.
His plan was simple and didn’t hurt anyone while restraining the bad guys.
Put the Muslims and sympathizers in camps. The government could buy trailers like they did for the niggers after Katrina. They could leave each morning, through metal detectors. Return the same way after work.
When The Bitch locked him up for 72 hours last year, they told him it was to evaluate whether he was “a danger to himself or others.” The Radicals could be locked up until it was determined they weren’t a danger either.
It was compassionate. Allow the good Muslims to go about their lives with slight inconvenience while hog-tying the bad guys.
His plan would get America on the road to being great again.
“The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots.” He was The Protector. He would be remembered as a Patriot.
He added a final page to his 30 pages of notes on The Plan. It was to his sons and to those who would find it after his death.