Goodbye America, I Loved You

(An American Tragedy)
a fictional series - short form
#1 of 15 (or so) offered between now and election day November 4th, 2008

It was the worst of times; the best were a thing of the past. Alone on a hill, Jenny Watson looked over her once bustling little hometown—only empty, broken shells of homes and Main Street stores were quietly lying below her now. The small furniture factory where her father once worked was the first to go, but not from foreign manufacturers selling at half the price, or a souring national economy, but from a massive blaze that lit the night sky almost three years ago to the day and still burns in her mind. She was only seventeen then--the first explosion happened just after midnight on May 7th, 2011 as it rattled every home in a five-mile radius of the factory, and as most of the townfolk ran toward the blast to help, the way Americans used to do, the second and third bombs killed over six-hundred of them. The next year for Jenny, her family, and the town was hell, and the fires, fear and murders finally won out and broke their spirit--a fate that was shared with millions across the country. Nobody believed it could happen in America, but there it was, and it was ruthless. It seemed like lawlessness was rewarded and anyone who stood up to it was punished. Nothing made sense, up was down and right was wrong. She didn’t live around there anymore, no one did. Eventually, everyone fled, and of the several thousand who once worked and played there, she only knew of a handful that were even still alive.

Alone, Jenny drew an imaginary path down the hill, through the rubble, and to the house she once knew as home. Preoccupied with her planning, she didn’t hear the footsteps moving between the trees behind her. Down the hill in the distance, on the two-lane road outside of town, Jenny noticed an old jeep carrying three or four of 'The New Guard' as it sent dust into the air and sped past the warning signs prohibiting anyone from entering the dilapidated hamlet. She crouched behind some brush and watched—she knew she’d have to wait until they left before she could make her move to recover the one item she came back there to get. Jenny sat down out-of-sight and put her head in her hands—her thin voice was barely audible as she said, “Please be there,” first to herself, then again to the wind. Startled, Jenny’s head spun around as a man’s voice answered her from the tree line, saying, “What do you want to be there? There’s nothing left.” Jenny pushed herself back away from the tattered young man as he moved towards her. “Nothing,” she said. “So you’ve become a liar, Jenny Watson?” he said to her. “Do I know you?” she asked him as if pleading for him not to hurt her. Slowly, he moved closer, returning her question with another, “Is it so easy to lie now, Wattsup?” “Billy? Billy Nichols? Oh my Go…sh,” a smile replaced her fear. Billy Nichols was one of only a few kids who called her Wattsup as a child, back when everything was peaceful and somewhat normal in their town, but as a young man now, his scraggly beard and clothing made him barely recognizable to her. "Get outta here! You're okay?" Jenny said as she climbed to her feet and he limped the few remaining yards to be next to her. "Not exactly," he said, acknowledging his limp, "but yeah, I'm still alive if that's what you mean." Desperate for an old friend, Jenny wrapped her arms around him, not wanting to let go. But Billy quickly broke the embrace, his coldness to human touch almost making him angry. "You're not supposed to be here" he said, and she wasn't sure if it was a friendly warning or a threat. "What?" she said. His sullen gaze added to the awkwardness, and he said it more directly, "You have to go, Jenny. We could all get in a lot of trouble if they find out there's a girl up here."