Foreword

I wrote the following short story in the summer of my sophomore year of college. I was driving from Washington D.C. to New York and became obsessed with this story. I had just read The Trial, Churchill and Orwell, Crime and Punishment, and Brave New World, which pretty obviously informed it. I was also very immature and more interested in culture war topics than is healthy. Nevertheless, here it is.

The Thuds

Annette prepared her dinner in a stranger’s home. She carefully stirred the whole wheat pasta as it cooked. She was house-sitting for a friend of a friend. This being day two of three; her patrons were on a weekend getaway. She had taken to working strange jobs on her college breaks to slowly chip away at the crippling expense of her private university. Annette was one of the forgotten kinds of college students: too wealthy to receive financial aid yet too poor to actually pay for college. Nonetheless, she remained encouraged and continued her top-tier education with the logic that her degree would be worth it in the end. This time, she was watching over a house on Churchill Street, the wealthiest, most beautiful neighborhood in the city. House after magnificent house lay evenly spaced along the winding road, each with a picturesque view of Churchill Pond. Each yard was meticulously maintained, complete with a garden of exotic, colorful flowers. Churchill Street was a historic, suburban utopia. Annette was very pleased to have landed this gig; after all, the owners of such a mansion pay handsomely for what is truly an easy job.

She had just removed the strainer from the cabinet when she heard a THUD. It was a deep sound comparable to a bass drum in both pitch and intensity. Her heart dropped for a second but she was certain it was nothing consequential. She was more focused on cooking; her pasta was ready. She was in the process of straining the pasta when she was again confronted with a loud THUD. She rushed to complete the straining job, poured the now mostly dry pasta back into the pot, and set it down on the stove top where it had cooked. She was curious about this sound, which seemed to be coming from inside the house. Her first guess was the dryer. Perhaps a forgotten item in one’s pocket was responsible for the commotion. She had just began to head upstairs to the laundry room when she both saw and heard the third THUD. She was walking passed the front door en route to the laundry room when she saw a mysterious masked figure in the window pane standing in front of a crowd of approximately five other masked figures. They made eye contact and he proceeded to take a closed fist and bang the bottom, fleshy part against the window.

She was terrified. Startled, she scurried back to the kitchen, out of sight of the masked figure. She grabbed the phone to dial the police. They were on their way after only the fourth THUD. She sat down with her back against the wall and curled her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her curled up knees and interlocked her fingers to secure the position. THUD. They were coming regularly (every twenty seconds by her estimation). Each thud sounded the same as the other.

Annette did her best to control her emotions and elevated adrenaline. She began to reason and quickly concluded there were three objectionable, terrifying aspects of this occurrence. First, there were people knocking on the door in a nice, wealthy, and safe neighborhood in a calm, boring suburb of Chicago. Not to mention, this was at eight o’clock on a Friday night. This was both alarming and calming, to some extent. Annette reasoned this was not a typical time to attempt a crime, so perhaps they were here for another reason. She also noted they did not break in, where they easily could have. They were content to stand outside banging on the door on this cold winter night. THUD.

She moved onto the second detail. They were not knocking. Someone who wants to come in, or be in any way respectful, knocks on the door or rings the doorbell. These demonstrable slams of closed fists against the window were clearly meant to intimidate. If they had been at all reminiscent of a knock, Annette would have recognized the sound.

Finally, these people were masked. A mask is only ever worn to conceal identity and intimidate. People with good intentions have no need to conceal their identity. And they certainly do not try to intimidate. She gulped. THUD.

Only four minutes or so had passed when she saw red and blue lights coming through the windows by the front door and splashing against the back wall of the living room. She breathed a sigh of relief. Probably bored of inaction, they responded very quickly. Another twenty seconds had passed after the arrival of the lights but there had been no THUD. She relished in the idea that the masked people had dispersed at the sight of the police. The eventual loud chime of the doorbell caused her to jump, but this sound was a welcomed rendition of the age-old request to enter a home. She poked her head out from around the corner to get a glimpse of who was at the door. Sure enough, two police officers now stood where the mob had been earlier. She hurried to the door to let them in. At this point, she concluded that the mob had scared and scurried.

As she opened the door, she learned that this was an erroneous conclusion. They had retreated a mere thirty feet onto the front lawn. She now saw there were far more than five or six, as she previously thought. The mob stood at around thirty, each masked and carrying various signs. She had been blind to the picket signs earlier in her fright. A cursory glance at the crowd brought more confusion than closure. In the few seconds between when the police officers had entered and Annette closed the door behind them, she did her best to read the various signs and analyze the crowd. The mob apparently supported myriad hot-topic causes. She saw a number of different signs, no two alike. Her brief inspection revealed a "we are the 99%" sign along with "coexist," "black lives matter," "trans lives matter," and a seemingly out of place "fuck Trump" sign. But these were only a select few of the signs; namely, these were the signs of those who stood in the front row of the mob phalanx. All but one of the hoodlums carried a sign. They were all dressed in black, from what Annette could see, with the exception of the one who had been responsible for the thuds and also had no sign. He wore a black shirt with white lettering. Only three letters stretched across his chest: DOA.

The Police

Annette quickly thanked the two officers for coming. They responded with professional modesty. She stood with the officers in plain sight of the front lawn. The officers’ presence had extinguished Annette’s fear. One officer was short, around five foot seven, and fat. He looked unkempt because his belly protruded from his otherwise strack uniform. His fat baby face was clean-shaven. The other was tall and svelte. He looked like the prototypical young police officer. The short officer, clearly the senior of the two, began.

"So, what seems to be the problem here?" he said with a smile. Annette laughed, assuming he was being facetious. But he maintained his artificial smile, and she realized he was serious. He could not possibly deviate from his formulaic script that began with this question.

"Did you not see the masked mob dressed in black outside?"

"You mean the protectors?" he inquired.

Annette, confused, responded with a question of her own: "Protectors?"

"Protesters. Excuse me, I meant to say protesters." He corrected his peculiar slip-up.

"If by protesters you mean the masked mob trespassing and banging rudely on the door, then yes." Annette was annoyed at the police officer’s unexpected sympathy towards the mob.

"Oh, sweetie they really are just protesters. Absolutely harmless. They only want you to hear what they came to say."

Annette grew increasingly annoyed at his condescending tone and inappropriately nonchalant attitude towards the trespassers.

"Well, officer." Annette began to explain her situation, "Is there anything you can do to remove them from this property? You see, I am house-sitting and I have a number of related concerns. To start, there is the possibility that the neighbors will see me entertaining this mob. The owners would surely find out and my reputation would never recover. Churchill Street is the pinnacle of house-sitting. This, you surely understand. Also, as the one responsible for the well-being of the house, I cannot help but be concerned over the incessant banging on the window the mob seems committed to. This, in conjunction with the trespassing, must be a punishable offense."

The officer paused, seeming to understand. "Well, I am afraid there is little we can do." He again offered a smile expecting she would be disappointed.

She again thought this smile indicated he was joking. It was so obvious to her. They need only enforce the law. It seemed like a routine job for a police officer to keep the peace. If he was joking, he had a horrible sense of humor. Annette responded with a half smile, and tilted her head to further investigate the legitimacy of his last remark. She squinted her eyes in a confused look after discovering he was, in fact, serious.

"But officer. Is trespassing not a valid crime? Should they be permitted to commit a crime?" As an undergrad with law-school ambitions, Annette seemed to argue as if there were a judge adjudicating. As if there were objectivity in the decision making. This had little effect on the officer; if anything, it irked him.

"Young lady," he began again in his condescending tone, "there are things you cannot understand. There are deep-rooted societal issues. You are simply too young to realize the reality of this world. These protesters represent a plight you are no doubt blind to: the underprivileged, the minorities, the disenfranchised. To force them off your property, which has hitherto been the policy of the police department, would be an encroachment on their rights as the underprivileged. In fact, in our most recent training, we have covered very similar situations and I am grateful for this training because it is in this light that we can be fully prepared for an altercation like this. It is most beneficial, and indeed most fair, to allow the crowd to persist. They are objectively doing no harm."

"But is it not an encroachment on my rights to allow them to trespass?" Annette was now in open debate with this strange man. All the while, the other cop stayed silent but his face slowly betrayed his police posture. He seemed more and more frustrated with the ineffectual police department.

"I suppose, as the situation stands now, it is an encroachment on your rights. However, any action we might take would be an encroachment on their rights. And, well you see, because of their underprivileged nature, an encroachment on their part would be a most grievous offense. You, on the other hand, can spare a few rights. It is only fair for you to shed rights in favor of them. Just look at how difficult their lives are." As he said this last line, he pointed to their signs. As if their signs and political agenda were some indication of their lives or identities. As if their alignment was of any consequence. As if only the righteous possessed the courage and audacity to form a mob.

"Are we not all equal under the law?" Annette asked a simple question that demands a simple answer. The answer was so obvious, Annette meant it to be rhetorical.

The officer responded immediately: "We are all equal. We are all created equal." He could not resist the urge to insert buzzwords into his bureaucratic, bumbling speech patterns. "But some are more equal than others." He spouted this phrase unaware of the ridiculous contradiction.

Annette did not accept this, and it was apparent that the other officer did not either. Still, he remained silent in the presence of his senior partner.

"So, in spite of the established laws against trespassing, the very laws that establish personal property, you are adjudicating this dispute on the basis of some presumed privilege, which is grounded in little truth beyond that which is ostensibly true? There exist no laws about sheltering mobs or protesters or whatever you call them. And how can you be so certain I am privileged? What basis do you have for this conclusion? If I were deemed to be less privileged than the mob, would you stand on my side?"

"Those who defend the defenseless are heroes. We have to speak out for those who are underrepresented and underprivileged." He ignored her last question. This was likely a subconscious rejection; the idea was simply too compelling. It would have overwhelmed his faculties.

"Defenseless? This is a characterization I vehemently deny on the basis that you know nothing about this mob. How could you? They are wearing masks and haven’t uttered a word! Additionally, they should not be defended if they are committing a crime. You can only infer things from their picket signs."

"I know who they are because of what they stand for and what they are passionate about. They are righteous people; just look at the signs!" He again pointed to the signs. "The signs tell you all you need to know."

"Ok, ok." Annette realized this was a nonstarter. "But how are you so sure I am not underprivileged as well?" She hoped to manipulate him by playing his game. This direction was possible only if his premises were consistent, which Annette concluded it was altogether probable that they were not.

"Well, look at the house you are standing in. You must be privileged to live here."

"I don’t live here. I already mentioned I am house sitting."

"Hmm. To be house sitting here you presumably know this family. And to be in the same circle as a resident of Churchill Street, then you are undeniably sharing, at least in part, their privilege. Their privilege, of course is obvious from their good fortune in life."

His complicated way of communicating simple ideas infuriated Annette. "I only know this person through a mutual friend!" she cried out in defense.

"But, my child, you surely see the relationship in that. You are in the same circle as your friend, who is in the same circle as the homeowners, who are undeniably in the circle of privilege. By transitivity, you are at the intersection of this circle of privilege. Whereas our friendly protesters are absent of privilege altogether, making them more deserving of the protection of the police. Our police department stands against oppression and fascism."

Annette rolled her eyes, seeing this was clearly going nowhere. "Well, can you at least talk to them about it? At least relay my story, my occupation. Perhaps this knowledge will cause them to change their mind, though you will be in no way forcing such a decision. Your hands will be clean. You would be a mere mediator exercising no force." She gave up on her mission to break through to the dense officer, but hoped she could salvage her job by swallowing some pride.

The officer paused, opened his mouth as if to respond, but quickly thought better of it. He turned around and marched out through the door and onto the lawn where the mob was standing quite still in the cold winter night.

Annette looked to the tall officer, who she deemed more reasonable. He said nothing and looked only at his shoes. They waited in awkward silence for the fat officer to come back. He took nearly five minutes and then they saw him approaching the front door. He opened the door, rejoined Annette and his partner, and stood in silence, as if he forgot the original purpose of his visit to the mob.

"Well?" Annette demanded impatiently.

"Oh right." He cleared his throat as if he had a long speech ahead of him. "I discussed your concerns with the leader of DOA, a young man named Josef. He assures me that they only want to have their voices heard. They are not at all criminal or violent or dangerous. This they assured. They just want to spread the word of their multifarious cause. To do so, they require that you listen to them. How else would one spread a word? It must be willingly accepted, of course. He assuages that he was not banging on your window but instead politely requesting to enter. This is to be attributed to a cultural difference, which we have no choice but to respect and do our best to understand. Josef undoubtedly grew up in very different conditions from you, where they knock differently. And the masks they wear are not to intimidate or be scary in the slightest; rather, they are the Defenders Of All. They wear the masks to show anonymity. That they stand with humanity, not any particularly person. They stand on the right side of history, always. The masks are a political statement, not criminal garb."

"Josef also pointed out that a denial of his right to free speech is in direct violation of the first amendment. You, in fact, could be prosecuted for refusing to hear these gentlemen speak. As such, I am lawfully ordering you to listen to them."

Annette wasted no time in response. "Can you not see that he is manipulating you? That is an adulteration of the idea of free speech. Freedom of speech in no way means you have to listen to someone talk. It only means you cannot silence them. I am not silencing him by refusing to listen; I am simply exercising my own free will, which is certainly not punishable. Moreover, I am exercising my right to property. He can speak in the public street forever. I will not complain."

"Ma’am," he changed his tone from condescending to stern. "If you refuse to obey, we are going to have to take you in." The other officer was now quite pale in the face. Annette watched as he painfully forced his reluctant head to nod in agreement.

Annette figured she would play the game. "Ok. So if I must listen to them, does it need to be inside this house, which they hold no claim to? Can I step outside and listen to them? I really feel uncomfortable having strangers in this home, which I have committed myself to watching over."

"Well, you see." "Well" seemed to be an indication that whatever follows will be nonsensical, bureaucratic bombast. "That would normally be suitable. However, it is December. And as such, it is quite cold outside. You surely would not like to step outside when it is so cold. Furthermore, I feel obliged to remind you that were anything to happen to your guests, you would ultimately be responsible. Keep in mind, it is cold and there is a real possibility that one of your guests might succumb to a cold-weather injury, in which case, because of course it is on your property, you would be liable for such injury. I would expect, in addition, because you are a respectable human being with kindness in your heart, that you would invite similarly kind-hearted individuals into the comfort of your home. It is only proper hospitality, you see."

So many angry thoughts raced through Annette’s head. I suppose they are now my guests. I did not invite them here. And because they have trespassed I am now liable for whatever happens to them? I did nothing to incur any responsibility in this matter. And it really is not that cold. They are bundled up in their black garb. Those ski masks will keep them warm. Not to mention, if they get cold, they can go home. They are held here only by there disingenuous convictions; not by any legitimate force. Them being cold and in the streets is not my fault and certainly not my responsibility. And who can speak of hospitality when this hoodlum Josef was banging on my window? When masked men approach this home to intimidate me? Am I required to offer a cold beverage to a man who has just robbed me? Criminals do not command hospitality. And it’s not my home! I’m just a fucking house sitter!

These thoughts went untranslated from Annette’s mind and were lost forever. The officer considered this prolonged silence acquiescence.

"Young lady, I will repeat more explicitly what I have perhaps implied in my previous statements. By the power vested in me, you have a number of obligations. First and foremost, you must not forcibly remove these peaceful people from your property, as such would be a violation of their rights. Second, you are required to listen to what they say, as any action otherwise would be a denial of their first amendment rights, which would be both illegal and an affront to our Constitution. Third, because of the nature of the seasons, you are required to listen to them in your home. This is in an effort to prevent any injury that might be had from being outside in the cold. Do you understand? And more importantly, will you comply?"

"Believe me, I understand. I have but one question." Annette surprised herself with this dramatization.

"Go ahead." The officer prepared for more insolence from this young girl.

"Must I also feed and bed these kind-hearted, masked folks?" Annette had taken to sarcasm. She knew she would not get through to this dense, fat man. At this point, she was just venting her frustration.

"No, don’t be ridiculous. If that’s your only question, then we must be getting on our way. However, we will come back if need be." He did not detect the sarcasm. But why would he? He parted with a threat; they would arrest her if she did not comply.

"Good night" said the other officer, speaking for the first time.

"AHHH, he speaks!" Annette jeered. The officer turned around and she saw his pallid face. He showed great reluctance in leaving, and a greater regret in his behavior. All of this could be drawn from the sullen look he gave Annette as he followed behind his partner. As the cop car pulled away, Annette watched the mob approach the door following the man named Josef, the leader.

Plan A

Josef, this time civilized, looked Annette in the eye and proceeded to knock. Annette shook her head, and began to walk away. But Josef took out his phone and seemed to gesture that he would call the police. Annette, preferring to avoid arrest at this point in time, let him and his followers in. They rudely crowded into the foyer and walked to the living room uninvited, leaving their muddy, black boots on and tracking dirt into the home.

Annette impatiently demanded, "So, let’s hear it and then you will be on your way."

"My apologies. How rude and absent minded of me. My name is Josef and these are my friends. Together, we make up the DOA, Defenders of All. We represent the voice for those who may be ill-equipped, disenfranchised, or otherwise oppressed. As you can see, we represent a host of issues, each person specializing in their own area of social inequality. We are a special detachment of the New Left, a political coalition formed in response to increasing levels of oppression, injustice, and inequality. Our specialty includes protests and raising awareness. We are here to inform you of the injustice of which you are no doubt guilty.

Without further ado, you and your neighbors among Churchill Street are guilty of theft. A most shameful theft, I’m afraid. You have stolen from your community. In exploitation of the hard work and sweat of lower class people, you have seized wealth. With this wealth, you and your neighbors have constructed beautiful homes with colorful gardens and perfectly terraced lawns. However, this facade does little to conceal your most heinous crime. You have grown rich off of the suffering of the lower 99%. We support income equality, and you are a direct opponent of that. Your gluttonous use of resources." He pointed with his eyes towards his right hand man, who happened to be carrying the "we are the 99%" sign.

"Enough! - " Annette began to defend herself but she was drowned out and eventually silenced by the mob’s jeers and screams.

"You may speak when I am finished." Josef warned. He had an authoritative aura about him. The hatred that was present in his eyes as he broke character to scorn Annette scared her.

"As I was saying, your gluttonous use of resources is both immoral and inhumane. You are no doubt responsible for the overall decline of the environment, with your enormous carbon footprint., I might add. You take more than you need to live a lavish lifestyle. Your profligate ways will no longer be tolerated by the New Left."

"In addition, you are white. Because you are white, you have built this beautiful, cushy life of yours on the backs of slaves. Certainly, you are not old enough to have had slaves. However, your ancestors were. For this reason, you have no claim to the fortune you obviously possess. In addition to amassing wealth off of slavery, you also do so more recently by oppressing minorities. Competitive, disadvantaged minorities are subjugated by the white ruling class, despite equal ability. They are stripped of a fair chance to compete and earn, and this advantage has paved the way for your good fortune."

"In essence, you have cheated. And you have won the game, as evidenced by this house. But the New Left is adjudicating now. And the cheaters must relinquish their claim to victory. Without fail, the New Left will redistribute wealth and pursue a new, unprecedented level of equality. But this has to start with Churchill Street, and the thousands of Churchill Street’s that litter our great country with depravity and decadence. The New Left is campaigning against rich, white, slave-owning, privileged folks like you. Our humble request is that you forfeit your deed to this house, as well as all financial assets. Indeed, this is the purpose of our visit. We are facilitating the downward redistribution of wealth, and thereby facilitating equality."

"Of course, you may wonder, how will you live? Surely you must be left with something. After all, equality, in some definitions, means everyone having the same thing. We could leave you with assets deemed fair; however, I assure you that fair in this case is nothing. It is only fair to leave you nothing. You see, you have undoubtedly had the advantage and the privilege for most of history. To make you equal with others, the previously disadvantaged, would be unfair. You must pay for your past transgressions. And this means we must shift equality to favor the disadvantaged. The disadvantaged, at this point, must be more equal than the formerly advantaged. This is the only way to restore balance. At some point in the future, things will have leveled out and we can achieve true equality. Only after you are the disadvantaged."

"Still, you will not be left destitute. You can go out and find a job. The point is you start over. We all start over at the same point. Except for the disadvantaged, who start slightly ahead. But we need to start over and play the game fairly. No cheating will be tolerated this time. The New Left is adamant about this. Except, of course, if you consider giving the disadvantaged a head start. But as I have already explicated, this is not cheating. It is simply counterbalancing the indiscretions of history."

"Now, you may speak."

Annette started with an effort to distinguish herself from the enemy. "First, I would like to point out that this is not my house. I am house sitting for a friend of a friend. In fact, I have only met the owners of the house once, and that was when they left on their vacation and explained the necessary details of the house. I am from a lower middle class family. Above that, I am a debt-ridden college student. Surely this is an underprivileged, sympathetic group."

"You lambaste me for being white, but I assure you I am only half white. My mother is Puerto Rican. In reality, I share little with your enemy. I am a liberal! I voted for Hillary, for Christ’s sake! I support social justice just as you do. Well, perhaps in a more moderate way. But still, do I really seem like your enemy?"

Josef responded. "I see your objection, but I will suggest a contrary point of view. I believe that you are from a lower-middle class family. However, you are undeniably a conservative sympathizer. By working for the rich, you are encouraging their abhorrent behavior. And you are guilty by association. Just as the accountant for Al Capone is a criminal, so are you. And as a college student, you are further guilty. You simply feed money to the rich. All in exchange for a conservative brainwashing over the course of four years. Even the most liberal institutions are all too conservative for the New Left."

"Additionally, being half white is a nonsensical concept. It is binary; you are either infested with the elitist white blood or not. If there is any whiteness in you, you are white. So do not feign innocence in the white man’s crime. Moreover, the New Left does not recognize liberals as allies. Rather, Hillary and the greater Democratic Party is far too conservative for our tastes. But we do not speak on our own. We represent all and the people have spoken."

Annette was astounded. "How can you have a job and not, by your logic, support some rich person? And you need a job to survive!"

Josef answered. "The New Left holds that the only noble profession is a lack thereof. Unemployment is the New employment. To gather welfare checks and thereby establish a redistribution of wealth and overall equality is the only approved way of living. So, in effect, this is our job. We live to propagate the wisdom that we have acquired. We live to represent the people who would otherwise go unrepresented."

"Who has elected you? Why do you think you represent the disenfranchised?"

Josef, angered by this question, stammered: "We weren’t elected. We rose to the occasion. We were inspired. We are seizing this great country for what it is meant to be." He gleamed in sanctimony.

Annette should have now realized that the DOA had no allies. The world could be divided into two exclusive groups: the mob and those too conservative for the DOA’s tastes. She tried nonetheless with a final naive attempt to ingratiate herself to the mob. "I think you’ve confused me for the enemy. The conservatives are the enemy. They are the immoral ones. I am simply a more moderate version of you. I do admire your passion."

Josef appeared to smile through his mask. "But you still don’t see. You are a conservative. There is no such thing as moderate liberalism. That is a thinly veiled conservative disguise. You are a part of the problem. Moderation is weakness. It indicates an internal conflict, an unwillingness to commit to a better society, a timidity that does not belong to the new world."

"Even if that is true. Even if you rant is absolutely correct and moving and I want to help out, I still have no authority to cede this house to you or any of the rich people’s financial assets, for that matter. It is a completely untenable plan doomed by impracticality. I am, honest to God, just a house sitter." This was incontrovertibly true. She could not give them what they wanted or claimed to want.

"And I believe you. But we need some kind of justice. Coercive redistribution of wealth is only Plan A. We have other options towards progress."

And with that, Josef took off his mask.

Plan C

Much to Annette’s surprise, there was an attractive young man underneath the black mask. Even more surprising, Josef was white. His pasty skin was as pale as the mute police officer’s. The contradiction was laughable. "You’re white too!" Annette saw the humor in the situation now clearer than ever.

"I know. And I have paid for my sins," Josef solemnly responded. He has paid for his sins, the mob echoed.

"I have committed my life to ameliorating such atrocities as white privilege. As such, the New Left forgives my transgressions." Josef spouted this cult-like nonsense with an effortless grace.

Annette concluded that the New Left would forgive people if they swore themselves loyal to the cause and joined the mob. It was also strange to her that he just now revealed his face. He lost his anonymity and intimidation in one fell swoop. She imagined he was trying to be more personal to now attempt to indoctrinate her. He no longer needed to conceal his identity, it was true; however, this was for a different reason than Annette imagined.

A burning smell filled the house. Annette recalled her pasta. While she had successfully strained it, she had placed it back onto the hot stove top. She must have neglected to extinguish the flame. Though she remembered turning it down, she must have kept it on low. This low, persistent flame had slowly burned the pasta over the thirty minutes that had elapsed. Annette walked over to turn off the stove. When she rejoined the mob, the remaining members had removed their masks.

Josef was the only white one, as far as Annette could tell. The rest were various minorities and underprivileged groups.

Josef turned to his followers and demanded, "Did you all bring what I requested? It is time for Plan C."

Yes, Josef they responded.

"Good. Then follow me." Josef reached into his black outerwear and brandished a sickle. It was unclear how he had concealed and affixed this weapon to his coat. The rest of the mob followed suite and pulled out various knife designs.

Annette’s eyes widened. She began to realize that her life was in danger as four of Josef’s sycophants seized her and began restraining her with some twine they had brought. They broke off one of the closet doors at the hinges and began tying Annette to the door in a supine position. This went so smoothly that it seemed to be rehearsed. This was premeditated, Annette thought.

"Plan C. What about Plan B?" Annette spoke as if she was pleading for her life; however, it still seemed surreal. She did not think these people really intended to kill her. It seemed to be part of some powerful political demonstration. These sententious people who were so intent on navigating the right side of history would certainly be too moral to kill.

"Plan B is only open to... certain individuals. People of your disposition... Well let’s just say they are less receptive to our ideals. You are too entrenched in your own. Therefore we cannot offer Plan B."

"Do any of your henchmen have a college degree?"

"No, of course not. No one can survive such a corrupting institution and be a part of the New Left. We have no choice but to educate our own." Josef signaled to his henchmen to gag Annette. They took some more twine and silenced her. Josef had tired of her questions.

Annette was, as it turned out, too enlightened to be in the mob. She might oppose Josef or persuade some of his minions to rebel. She was unworthy of being a member of the New Left because she was capable of objective, rational thought. This posed a great danger to the mob and the operations of the DOA.

"Young lady, you will make history with us. You will help join us in creating a better tomorrow – "

They cinched down the restraints, one around each wrist and ankle. She also had one going across her knees, waist, and chest.

"With your help, we will pursue true American ideals: a new world in which all are treated equal. A world in which there are no privileges (except those for the previously underprivileged). A world in which individuals are not discriminated against (unless the individuals were recipients of an advantage in the old world). A world in which people are economically equivalent (unless they were previously wealthy). This new world will be a welcomed transition from the perils of historical, systemic oppression. Once we navigate this new world of equal inequality, we can then proceed together into a true utopia. First, however, the rich, white, and otherwise-determined-to-be-privileged people must suffer their fair share. They must get what they gave. Only then will there be balance, and nature will allow us to proceed to Utopia. It is only after we have righted our past wrongs that we may proceed. You, my young girl, –"

Josef spoke to her as if she could respond, yet she was completely restrained, save for her eyes and ears.

"You, my young girl, will be the first to suffer in the name of righteousness. The first to shed blood for our cause."

And with that he stopped speaking. And moved closer to a trembling Annette. She was trying to speak against the wishes of the prohibitive gag, but could not say anything coherent. Josef was intrigued by whatever she was meditatively repeating. He gestured to a minion to loosen the gag. "Dead on Arrival. Dead on Arrival. Dead on Arrival." Annette’s eyes were empty; she was possessed by something. "DOA" she croaked one last time as they replaced the gag.

Meanwhile, the members of the mob lined up in an orderly fashion behind Josef.

Josef held up his sickle into the light and admired the impressive weapon. He smiled at it, looked to his brethren behind him, then back at Annette. He forcefully plunged it into her stomach with a casual violence and pulled it out. "1, for white privilege" he chanted. 1, for white privilege the mob echoed.

His highest ranking follower now stepped up to Annette and stuck his dagger into her stomach. "2, for structural racism." 2, for structural racism the mob echoed again.

The next mob member came through and sliced her stomach with his machete. "3, for income inequality." 3, for income inequality the mob reliably repeated.

They continued like this for some time, one after another. Annette had bled out around the 20th stab, which was for the plight of transgender people.

Still, they persisted in stabbing Annette’s lifeless, eviscerated body. After three full iterations of the mob, Josef stepped ahead and finally decapitated her with his sickle. "99, for the 99%. For those who cannot. Defenders of all. Dead on arrival." Josef raised his voice with every successive sentence. The mob echoed, matching his pronunciation exactly.

99, for the 99%. FOR THOSE WHO CANNOT. DEFENDERS OF ALL. DEAD ON ARRIVAL.

After this, the job was done. "To the next house. The resistance is here. The New Left will rise to restore order."

Josef dipped his finger in one of the many pools of Annette’s blood and painted "GUILTY" on the wall, before he and his mob finally marched out with Annette’s blood dripping from their weapons and spattered over their formerly black clothes and once pristine signs.

The Aftermath

Annette lay lifeless, decapitated and strapped to the door. Her blood had pooled all around her inanimate body. The blood dripped quietly into the basement library through an air conditioning vent embedded in the hardwood floor. The blood proceeded to drip through another vent onto the top of a bookshelf in the home’s library. It had navigated it’s way to the philosophy section. Here, it pooled until eventually overflowing onto the books beneath it. It dripped its way down, passed Plato, passed Machiavelli, passed Robespierre, passed Marx, passed Sartre onto the floor where it eventually dried two hours after Annette had expired. The trail of blood hardened into a crust and had soaked into many of the pages of the famous works, joining them in eternity.

The next morning, the same police duo came to check on Annette. They found her headless and tied down. She had been mutilated with several puncture wounds. "GUILTY" they read from the wall. Her bright blue eyes were wide open. She had looked her murderers in the eye through it all. They called up the crime to the precinct and hurried to check on the other houses that had been visited by the DOA. The night before, they had visited each house along Churchill Road at thirty minute intervals, giving each tenant the same instructions. They had denied the masked mob as an adversary every step along the way, even going so far as to say the blood on their clothing was fake blood, to represent the bloody reality of the underprivileged.

They reached the second house. Here, a mom, dad, and three little girls had received the same fate as Annette. Again, the word "GUILTY" appeared in blood.

The third house was in the same state of disarray. This time, it was a family of six and a dog.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth houses had all suffered the same fate. At the sixth house, after witnessing the state of the inhabitants, the tall police officer removed his weapon from its holster. He turned to his fat partner who was now as pale as he had once been while leaving Annette’s house. The fat officer had his mouth wide open in disbelief. The taller police officer removed his pistol from the holster and pressed the muzzle against the side of the fat officer’s head, and shot him dead. But the tall police officer felt no better. He had refused to stand up to his fat senior. This was in part because he had been reprimanded for similar actions before and was on a tight leash. Still, as the weight of several innocent, slain families mounted, he sentenced himself to death. With a slight pull of the trigger, he collapsed next to the fat officer, pistol in hand, bullet in head. Together, they descended to nothingness.

FIN.