Through my closed eyelids, I could see the blinding sunlight piercing through. I slowly cracked them opened and immediately shielded my eyes from vibrant rays. I slowly prodded out of my bed and stepped onto the cold wood floors. I walked into the cold bathroom and let my feet mash against the freezing ceramic tiles as I went to do my business and then looked at my reflection as I washed my hands. My hair was crazily placed all over my head, my eyes had that gross gunky stuff in them, and I had lines on my cheeks from all my bracelets that imprinted on my face. I washed my face with some warm water and brushed my teeth before I crept downstairs to the living room.
I turned on the TV and saw Poetic Justice playing on VH1. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother coming down the stairs, rubbing her eyes.
"Morning Mom", I cheered drowsily.
"Morning, Baby", she replied groggily. "Breakfast?", she asked as she made her way towards the kitchen. "Sure", I said unenthusiastically.
I watched as she made her way towards the cabinet and pulled out some pancake mix.
She doused the mix in with an egg, milk and some vanilla extract. I turned my attention back on the TV and just as Lucky and Justice were fighting in the truck and he was about to let her walk the rest of the way to their destination, a Breaking News update interrupted the movie.
"We have breaking news that a man identified as one Patrick Humprees is causing havoc in Hollywood. This 32 year old Caucasian male, 6'3, is wandering somewhere in downtown L.A. He is armed with a magnum riffle and several other weapons including access to several bombs. He is dangerous and has already been convicted of killing 17 civilians. If you have any information regarding this criminal, please do not hesitate to call and inform the police. Thank you", ended the Reporter.
I gasped fearfully as I turned to my right and realized that my mother was standing next to me while she continued to beat the mix with a whisk. I took hold of the remote and tried changing channels; every channel was taken over by the news report. I kept flicking through channels all dominated by this report until I noticed one. It was Mr. Obama speaking about the events going on in California.
"Due to security reasons, we are deporting all of our important people- such as celebrities, presidents, governments, millionaires and people of authority -to live with families within and out of the area to keep them safe from harm. If you are currently residing in the following states: Texas, Arizona, Florida, North and South Carolina, Delaware, Minnesota, Philadelphia and New york; please call our toll free number if you would be so kind as to lend one of these many people shelter and safety: 1-800-HEL-P008 (1-800-435-7008) as soon as possible. You will receive special compensation for your kindness and generosity. Thank you", finished the president as the report was about to end.
Before the report could end, there were gunshots coming from the TV, I whipped my head around to look at the TV and saw the president being carried away by security as he clutched his left leg. The report ended and the station resumed the episode of Spongebob that had previously been playing. He had been shot. This was the first sign of the war.
I slowly turned my head towards my mom and glanced at her pleadingly. She walked to the counter and set the mix down. She walked over the counter and picked up our home phone and began dialing. I knew exactly who she was calling; that toll-free number.
"Mom, no! I don't want any snobby celebrities or presidents in our house! Please!", I pleaded to her as I glanced around or Suburban New York residence.
"We have to help them!", she counteracted agressively as she held the phone between her right ear and shoulder while she waved her right hand at me.
"What makes them so special from the rest of the regular people? HUH!? Why aren't they helping the regular "civilians" of California?", I growled at her as I made air-quotes at the word "Civilians".
"These people are.... They're... More important, okay!?", she sneered.
"Why?! What makes them so much better than the rest of us, h--"
"THEY HAVE MONEY AND POWER OVER US. THAT'S WHY THEY'RE "BETTER". I AGREE WITH YOU, THEY'RE HUMANS JUST LIKE YOU AND ME BUT BECAUSE OF THEIR WEALTH AND POWER THEY'RE CONSIDERED A HIGHER CLASS THAN US... That's just the way the cookie crumbles", she said, mumbling the last part.
Her face lightened as an operator came to the phone. She started talking about her whereabouts and how willing she was to offer our home to these people.
I scoffed disgustedly at her as I marched up the stairs, entered my room and slammed the door shut. I ran to my bed, plopped myself onto it, stuffed my face in my pillow and screamed the most violent, loud scream I could concoct. I couldn't believe that I was about to share my house with some people who are supposedly "Better than the rest of us" just because they have money and "power". I don't care who they are, they're not getting a warm welcome from me.No matter who they are, what they have, or what they're worth. Nor are they getting any special treatment from me either. They're getting treated regularly. Just like us "unimportant civilians".
