3WW: Intervene, Deliberate, Nourish

He sat on his bed cradling his head in his wrinkled hands. Remembering that night when it happened, when his family was torn asunder.

He, his wife, and their two sons were watching an episode of the twelfth season of American Idol when he heard a knock at the door. He found standing on his stoop two young men dressed in white shirts and black pants. Mormons, he thought.

'Good afternoon, sir,' the tall dark-haired boy spoke clearly, confidently. 'Do you have a moment to speak with us?'

'No, I'm sorry, I'm enjoying some rare family time with my wife and sons,' he said hoping that they might respect family time.

'This concerns them as well,' said the shorter, stockier boy. He took a deliberate step forward, positioning himself in such a way that the door would not be able to close.

'Look, I'm really not interested in what you have to say. I don't wanna be a Mormon.'

The two young men chuckled. 'Oh, we're not Mormon. We'd just like to have a word.' They simultaneously stepped into the welcome mat inside the house backing the father into the living room.

'Honey,' the father said, 'We've got company.' His wife emerged from the den.

'Oh yes,' she said. 'These two young gentleman said they were going to return. Did I not tell you?'

The father shook his head.

'Please sit down,' she said to them. 'Can I get you something to drink?'

'No, ma'am. We are just here to speak with your husband, but you and your children are welcome to sit and listen.'

'Oh that's fine. Let me get the boys.' She walked from the room.

The father sat in his chair and looked at the young men seated on the love seat. Something wasn't right; he felt it. When his wife and kids were seated on the couch, the young men commenced.

'Do you agree that you need to nourish young children's hearts, minds, and souls?' The dark haired boy started.

'Yes,' the father said uncertainly. The mother, meanwhile, was pumping her head vigorously with approval.

'We feel the same. We are concerned that the young people in our country are not receiving the proper direction. And according to your neighbors, your family is at risk.'

'What?' the father asked. 'Why? What are you talking about?'

'We are here, sir, on behalf of your family and friends to intervene. We work for a government agency that ensures that families are protected from harmful influences.'

The father looked over at his wife. 'Do you know what they're talking about?'

'Yes, hon, they told me about this last week. It's for your good and for the good of our family.' She said matter-of-factly.

'Okay, look. I'm not abusive. I've never been abusive. I love my wife. I raise my kids well, I think. I've raised 'em to think for themselves and be who they wanna be. I worked hard at my job. I mean, I know I've been laid off, but I'm looking. I love my country. I vote; I'm an active member of the community. A den leader. A dues-paying member of the Democratic party. A softball player. What am I doing wrong?'

'Sir, for whom did you vote in the last election?'

'What? Are you kidding?' He saw on their face their utter seriousness. 'That's none of your goddam business!'

'I'm sorry, ma'am,' the stocky young man directed his comments at the wife, 'I think we're going to have to bring him with us.'


Please see this previous 3WW post for part 1 of the story.

3WW: Agree, Execute, Providence

'And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.'

The old man folded the brittle page carefully and slipped it into his pocket. The small crowd lingered for a time. Mostly old, infertile women. There were a few men, those who had survived. And a smattering of women lucky enough to have born a child or two.

After a time enjoying the scenery - they chose a different spot each year - the elders hobbled back to camp; the younger men and women followed. They could not gather in large groups for any period of time outside the anti-detection perimeter they had constructed lest the new government of the United States find them and execute them.

But on this one day, the former Independence Day, this group of rebels asserted their freedom by gathering outside their perimeter. A brief, symbolic gesture to declare their rights to life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness.

The old man did not immediately return to the village. Instead, by the light of the dying sun, he journeyed to the edge of a nearby cliff and stared into the valley where he saw, in the distance, a gleaming city with highways crisscrossing about it. Odd that he lived so close to the place where he had lived another life. Where his children most likely still lived. And where his wife had chosen to die. A city of high-tech slavery. The city a microcosm of the country that itself had sold its soul to the devil in return for a blend of hedonism and ultimate power.

He made his way back across the familiar path in the darkness of the new moon. When at the gates, he spoke the password, 'I do not agree with a word that you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it. Voltaire.' And with the final word the young man bade him enter.