Each week, we will spend ten minutes writing and attempting to complete a flash story. We hope that the exercise will allow us to grow as writers, as well as provide a small amount of entertainment for you. Further, we hope to inspire you to do the same.
“The whole concept—the whole idea is antiquated.” The man spoke with an air of superiority. “To think that ‘the people’ should have any decision in matters that are so clearly above their heads is nonsensical!”
“With all due respect sir, that is exactly what makes America great.”
The two men sat in a large office with war memorabilia decorating the walls. Flags and medals hung proudly alongside pictures of bomber groups and officer’s balls. In the picture at the ball, General Jason Williamson stood with a large grin beside his beautiful wife—a bombshell of a blond with blue eyes to boot. The epitome of perfection in a couple. But now, that smile was contorted. He was standing, nearly yelling at his subordinate.
“Great? America great?” said the General. “When was the last time you saw greatness in America, soldier? What part of it? The riots on the streets over petty disagreements? Violence over skin color or whether this guy is gay or not? Sounds great to me!”
The general quickly walked to his open window and pointed down at people walking and talking in the park across the street.
“They,” he said, jabbing his finger into the glass, “are complete idiots! When they think we need to sit out of a war is precisely the moment we need to be pushing buttons and sending bombs. They believe that our greatest enemy is outside the borders of our land. They are too stupid to realize that the enemy sits upon a throne in an office shaped like an oval.”
The other man was short. He wore his uniform snuggly, having grown wide around the belly over the years. He was sweating, hard.
“These are words that could be mistaken as treason, sir,” he said.
“They shouldn’t be mistaken as treason, Grant. They are treason. But it’s hard to be treasonous toward a party who’s already abandoned their people. That, Grant, is treason. Someone needs to stand up and shut down the machine that rages against this once-great-nation. Decisions are being made by a select few who’ve never seen anything more dangerous than a large spider by their bed at night.
“There’s a reason that our forefathers fought wars and carried rifles. You’ve gotta have blood in the game. These fancy-pants dictators we call Mr. President have no blood in the game. They’ve just got stock in accounts and money in the bank. They’re looking to line their pockets with the bleeding guts of our soldiers. And the people make it worse. They push and push until we’ve got nothing more than a police force guarding our land and our boys are sent overseas with barely enough firepower to stay alive.”
Grant was getting uncomfortable. He’d never heard an officer talk like this before. Part of him was growing excited at the thoughts that General Williamson had shared. The other half was worried that the office might be bugged and at any moment secret service men would kick down the doors, guns blazing and take the both of them out.
“We need to return to the days of warriors in the White House, Grant. And I believe I am the man to do it. To quote my favorite movie,” he reached his hand out toward the fat man. “Come with me if you want to live.”