New World Order

I’m just reaching the point in my career where I can start enjoying the fruits of my labor.

I have a large condo downtown on the 26th floor; I have a sprawling home just a drive over the bridge that sits only nine feet away from my own private beach, and I have a second condo in London – its small but its on the South Bank with an unobstructed view of The London Eye.

I’m also starting to be recognized. People timidly ask for my autograph, enthusiastically tell me about their favorite characters or vehemently disagree with a way I’ve ended a book and shyly ask if I’ll pose with them for pictures.

I get fan mail, hate mail and two weeks ago a paparazzi snapped a photo of me leaving Walgreen’s at two o’clock in the morning and shoving a cookie into my mouth.
I was both mortified and flattered to have graced the pages US Weekly under the “Celebrities: They’re Just Like Us!” category.

From my home I drove to a small neighborhood café, and despite it being a beautiful summer day, I took a seat inside against the back wall where I could write protected from the sun’s glare and have the perfect advantage point to people watch.

The barista brought me my usual and I pulled out a spiral notebook, my laptop and a pencil and two pens from my shoulder bag.

I’m not sure how long I had been lost in a world of my own creation but suddenly I felt the atmosphere in the coffee shift and when looked up I saw two unmarked black vans sliding to a stop.

The doors of vans open simultaneously, and what appeared to be the SWAT team jumped out and stormed the coffee shop. The three-inch white lettering on there did not say SWAT – it read INTELLIGENCE CRIME UNIT.

Patrons fled in all directions and everyone seemed to be screaming, the cops were too, which is why at first I didn’t understand.

“Drop that fucking pen right now, I will not tell you again.”

The only thing I dropped was my mouth. I was staring up into the barrel of a semi automatic, anti personal assault weapon.

I stood up to ask a question, to protest or something I wasn’t really sure but before I could say anything he backhanded me. My face exploded in pain, I swallowed my tooth and I dropped the pen.

Another office swung his rifle over his shoulder, he brook off my USB flash drive off of the slot. He picked up my laptop raised it over his head and then smashed on the floor.

“You are being charged with violating Section 4 Paragraph 8, Subsection 12.1, Section 9, Paragraph 12, Revised Subjection 6.3.78, and Section 11, Paragraph 1, and Revised Subjection 5.12.4 of the Intelligence Code.”

“You’re…you’re the though police?” I looked panicky towards the flag pool. The American flag was gently flapping in the wind but I could not find comfort in standing on American soil.

Looking at my laptop smashed into a million pieces on the floor pissed me off and I momentarily lost my mind.

“You’re not the fucking police! We have a thing in the country called The Freedom of Speech! Have you not heard of the First Amendment?” I demanded belligerently.
I was slapped again, harder this time, I to be more accurate I was knocked down. I couldn’t break my fall because I was handcuffed though I don’t remember being restrained.

My head bounced off the hard tiled floor and my eyes came to rest of the eyes of a woman who had lain down on the floor when these cops rushed in.
I knew her. She’d proclaimed to be my biggest fan and owned every book I had ever written, and now she was crying.

The officer who’d hit me yanked me back to my feet and I tried to tell myself that this wasn’t happening.

“The mandatory minimum sentence for the crimes you’ve been charged with is death. But they wouldn’t have sent us if you were getting off with the a slap on the wrist.”
“With the slap on the wrist…I don’t, I don’t understand.”

The contents of my shoulder and handbags were dumped on the table, and the cop who smashed my laptop collected every pen and pencil and broke them in half.

“What is it with you people, do you really think that no one is watching? You brought this on your self.” He condescendingly said while flipping through my notebook.

He showed my work to the cop who had violated my civil rights and they both shook their heads in disgust. “With this right here,” the bad cop said while flapping my notebook in the air. “You’re probably going to serve the maximum penalty under the law.”

I was being marched out of the coffee shop in a daze barely understanding what was happening.

“Maximum penalty, I don’t understand but I’ve done nothing wrong.” I was ignored but not before my question was answered.

“The Maximum penalty for the crime you committed is the surgical removal of your thumbs, larynx and vocal cords.”

The cop on my left thought that was funny, a cop behind me covered my head with a black hood and I was picked up and thrown into the van