c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(11-26)
Linn Speck had been a notable figure at Evergreen Estates, since moving to the park after his house was repossessed by Key Bank. And despite this financial calamity, along with a bankruptcy and marital strife that followed, he had been immediately boosted to a position of community leadership at the rural oasis. Only the failure of his residential association, an idea rooted in logic but damned by the independent nature of their blue-collar environment, had been a setback on his path to glory. So, he felt confident in living at the junkyard village. His background was more sophisticated than most of the other inhabitants, and this disparity meant that he could dominate arguments and conflicts with a keen sense of scriptural authority and political knowledge. He had met every challenge bravely, as a warrior for goodness. With a clean-cut approach to living that made him stand above most other people on their streets, as someone who knew right from wrong, and followed those guidelines every day. Nothing during his stay at the isolated development had knocked him off course, for long. He was skilled at maintaining his balance, and moving forward with gusto. But events in his state and around the country on Election Day knocked down the metaphorical temple he had erected, like a house of cards.
He howled with disbelief as results came in, hour by hour, via major television networks, radio outlets, and through online media sites.
“From the Associated Press – In the run-up to Election Day, President Donald Trump used many of the levers of presidential power to interfere in how states run elections, only to be stopped repeatedly by the courts. On Tuesday, the voters made sure there was no ambiguity in their verdict. Trump’s party lost control of both houses of Congress and got clobbered in races up and down the ballot, even in places like Texas and Iowa. As the rout became clear, the president told The New York Times he was ‘absolutely willing to accept those results.’ In a series of phone interviews with media organizations and in a social media post, he acknowledged the loss for his party and said he was willing to work with Democrats...”
Linn took this note of surrender as a complete betrayal. It caused him to trash the kitchen where he sat, with a laptop PC signed into the One America News Network website. Small appliances bounced off the walls, as he flailed both arms and kicked at the dinner table. Saliva dripped from his mouth. His flabby jowls turned bright red.
“NO, NO, NO! THIS IS UNBELIEVABLE! WORK WITH THE COMMUNIST DUMOCRATS? NO MR. PRESIDENT, HELL NOOOOOO! THIS IS THE TIME TO FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!”
He had portraits of the commander-in-chief in nearly every room of his trailer. With a full-size, campaign banner hanging in his bay window, at the front. And a gold statue on his coffee table, along with a copy of the Trump Bible. But now, all of those artifacts only deepened his anger over the calamitous election returns. He felt victimized and used. As if everything he had done on behalf of the man from Mar-a-Lago had been wasted in one, single day of citizen unrest.
“I KNOW YOU DON’T MEAN IT, TALKING ABOUT WORKING WITH THOSE TRAITORS ACROSS THE AISLE! YOU CAN’T POSSIBLY MEAN IT! THIS IS A TRICK TO FOOL THE PRESS! I GET IT, JUST A TRICK AND NOTHING MORE! YOU’LL BE SAYING SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT, TOMORROW!”
The park was oddly quiet as he stood outside, on his redwood deck. All of the usual sounds seemed to be absent. There were no barking dogs, echoes of Country melodies, arguing husbands and wives, or the typical clatter of rusted exhaust systems dragging on the tarmac. It was as if the entire neighborhood had gone into hibernation. Perhaps as a defensive strategy to avoid being seen out in public, when their collective mood had turned so dark and depressing.
Finally, Aimes Hefti, the self-appointed successor to deceased militia queen Esmeralda Jonovic, appeared in his driveway. The extremist advocate had dressed in tactical garb, as if girding himself for battle. A pistol was holstered at his side, and a KA-BAR combat knife. He scowled with a facial expression of defeat and disgust.
“Y’all are just standin’ there like a gawdamned statue, man! I figure ya would be out here raisin’ a ruckus about the bullshit that just went down. Where’s yer balls, dude? Screw lettin’ this thing pass like it don’t mean nothin’ to nobody! Let’s make some noise! Make some effin’ noise about it! Show the world we’re pissed off and fired up!”
He took out his sidearm and began to send rounds into the air. This caused Linn to flinch, reactively. He hopped from one foot to the other, as bullets flew wildly toward the heavens.
“I like your style, commander! I like it a lot!”
The militant trooper emptied his handgun, then took out the knife and swung it from side to side, in a show of mock defiance.
“Let me hear one of them idiots braggin’ about their ‘Blue Wave’ around this place, and I’ll slash their throat! It’s high time we ran all of ‘em outta here, anyway! This ain’t no time to play nice, understand? We need to break some bones and bust some asses! Let’s do it up! Let’s do it right now!”
Their noisy demonstration soon attracted attention from other trailers along the narrow avenue. Rifles and shotguns were brandished without hesitation. Gunfire ripped the quiet evening with violent intensity. Then, cold beverages appeared as coolers were brought to the corner lot. Drinks were lifted as a toast to their contrarian rebellion, and its originator in Washington.
Finally, Linn took a seat on his front steps. Now that the impromptu gathering had blossomed in his yard, he felt comfortable relaxing with a tall, chilled can of Milwaukee’s Best Premium. The lonely sting of alienation that had taunted him before was gone. He was surrounded by like-minded neighbors who shared his love of God, and country. That embrace made him feel safe again, and warm, inside.
He whispered to himself, while sipping the macro brew.
“I know you’ll be on your Truth Social account tomorrow, Mr. President. Yes, I do! I trust in your judgment. You’ll be slamming the doubters, and scattering your enemies, like a flock of frightened hens. You’ll be back in the White House, bigger and better than ever! And you’ll be reminding all of the naysayers that you’ve still got two years left in office! Two more years of ruling this great country like no one has ever ruled it before! Two more years, sir! Two more grand and glorious years of the Trump Train chugging down the tracks!!”
