15 minutes in the life of a Snowflake. (A Short Story of Lunacy)

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It was just another beautiful day of impending doom and gloom.

The evil Capitalist Industrial Complex pumped out trillions of pounds of carbon into the air, drilled mercilessly into the earth mothers crust to exploit her black blood of the earth and precious minerals. Meanwhile numerous cute, defenseless, furry, woodland creatures were slaughtered by backwoods, uneducated, rednecks without teeth and family genealogy problems. Earth was dying, and we were the cause. The beautiful summer flowers would soon wilt away and die. If Global Warming didn’t freeze them first, the acid rain from industrial pollution, or the rapidly depleting ozone layer from aerosol cans would eventually get them. Or the loss of the pink butt bullfrog’s natural habitat would destroy the fragile ecosystem that has remained unchanged for millions of years and kill us all. If only Al Gore had been elected back in 2000 instead of that dumb cowboy!

But instead of worrying about Earth and future generations, all the extreme right-wingers could think about was their precious jobs and tax cuts and border wall and stock market records. Fools. They elected Trump, and everyone knows the stock market is going to crash because of him. It’s just taking a little longer than CNN said it would.

But it’s too late now.

It was all stupid America’s fault, if only we hadn’t backed out of the Paris Accords. Then we could have reduced earths global warming by 0.00001 degrees per year. But instead America was pushing its imperialist will over everyone else and bullying them with undeserved might. Why couldn’t we be more like Europe or Canada? Prime Minister Trudeau was such a great man, at least he knew we could rehabilitate jihadists to be an extraordinarily powerful voice for the Muslim community. He was the beacon of hope that we no longer had.

Stepping past a large silver pickup, I intentionally dragged my keys down the side of it. Gas guzzlers were the bane of vehicular existence. Probably a stupid Trumpkin anyways. I huffed. He wasn’t my President. What a bozo. Obama was like, a gazillion times greater. He was a man of the people. He cared, he resonated, he even cried about things that he was passionate about.

I felt like we were very similar. I was passionate, and I cried a lot also. All the time.

Usually I wept for our future, where transgenders weren’t welcome in the military, where racist bigoted celebrities could be President, where Health Care wasn’t treated as a basic human right, where entire families of immigrants were deported behind an iron wall of hatred, where Radical Islam was considered the biggest threat instead of Russian Collusion or a Republican controlled Congress. Or where we couldn’t get rid of unwanted fetuses. They were just clumps of cells. Like removing a tumor or something. And if conservatives weren’t going to pay for them to be taken care of after they are born, who are they to act so high and mighty about killing them? They just wanted them to starve or not be able to read good or learn how to do other stuff really good too. Besides, they believe in corporal punishment. And everyone knows you should ask a child’s consent before you punish them, hold them, or hug them. Bunch of hypocritical child abusers is what they are.

There was always something to cry or be passionate about.

I kicked the trucks bumper for good measure, but my Birkenstocks didn’t do any damage. They just made my exposed toes hurt as I stubbed them.

I straightened my safety pin on my fashionable $40 Che Guevara T-shirt and reminded myself that I am a refuge of safety and dignity. There is strength in me, and I won’t be silenced or intimidated. The world was full of injustice, and I was a social justice warrior.

Then I saw it.

Someone had tried to peel it away, but I could still make out the large H and the “I’m With” lettering on the arrow that pointed to the side. The sticker was faded and torn, and Hillary’s name was almost unrecognizable. Yet, like her, it persisted.

Just like I also persisted.

I felt my lower chin begin to tremble, and my eyes start to water.

I forced myself to blink back the tears instead of giving in to them. I couldn’t break down now, I had to get to class. My Gender Studies in the Homosexual Community was my favorite class, my teacher inspired me. I copied her look with short purple hair, bright make-up, torn fish net stockings, and facial rings. I made sure I projected a strong feminist presence. I only wish I wasn’t a white male. I was the very thing that I hated so much. The archetype of racist and masculine evil. No wonder my parents didn’t understand me. They were white, heterosexual, and Christian. They were the absolute worst!

Averting my eyes from the peeling bumper sticker, I hurried. Holding the strap to my environmentally friendly hemp backpack tighter, I skirted around the homeless baby-murdering vet sleeping in a cardboard box as I made my way down the street. He was curled in a ball, sleeping, with an American Flag folded neatly beside a small donation can. I kicked it out of spite and it skittered into a puddle. I sniffed in righteous indignation, it served him right, he fought for oil. That meant he was just another one of George Bush’s peaceful Muslim murdering savages. Weapons of Mass Destruction, I harrumphed, G. Dumb. Bush was a weapon of mass destruction to the Iraqi People. He should be executed for War Crimes against Human Decency.

A man was walking the other way, swaying with toxic masculinity while texting on his phone. He was dressed casually, in jeans and black t-shirt. His hair was cut and slicked back, with slight stubble covering his chin. He was looking down at his phone when our shoulders grazed slightly as I tried to dodge out of the way. I squealed, and he muttered an apology before glancing up at me. We locked eyes for a moment. His mouth dropped open slightly before he squinted in confusion and quickly turned to walk away. It must be my exposed man breast and nipple pasty, of course he wouldn’t get it. He looked like the typical cis-gendered male, all arrogance and cockiness. I was gender fluid, so today I chose to show solidarity with feminists. I was especially proud of my eye liner, I watched a dozen YouTube videos on how to apply it perfectly.

I sneered after him before pulling out my brand new Iphone-X. It was the latest model and cost me over a thousand dollars. I used my Student Loans to pay for it. That’s what they are for anyways, to cover necessities. It was such a shame these weren’t free from the Government, stupid greedy Capitalists. Cell Phones were a basic human right.

I pulled up the app and quickly sent out a tweet:

Men are such pigs. #metoo #Oprah4POTUS #CheetoPrez

That would get plenty of attention. I couldn’t wait to see how many of my online friends liked it. I hoped it would go viral. Maybe Ellen DeGeneres would interview me, and I could talk about how I was nearly assaulted and disrespected on the street in the broad daylight. I started day dreaming about how I would make it sound more confrontational when I told the story and what I would have said to put that creep in his place and draw attention to our cause. I needed to practice my dance moves tonight just in case. She always danced on her show.

Then my phone pinged, and I saw I had an email from one of my professors.

It was an invitation to protest the latest conservative speaker on campus. Anyone who signed the attendance sheet being passed around would get extra credit! I don’t know why they kept trying to speak, no one wanted to hear what they had to say. They just came here to cause trouble. Bunch of ignorant mouth breathers. Last time I made sure that I stood at the front of the protest, so everyone could see me. I even hit a police officer with a dildo. That showed him. But then I got a rubber bullet to the groin, and while I considered myself a female that day, it still hurt. I threw up on my pink vagina hat. It still smelled bad. But I would be there, because I persisted!

As I passed one of the dorms, I inadvertently saw the poster through the window and it hit me like an emotional pile of bricks.

The familiar red, white, and blue poster with HOPE in bold words at the bottom. Obama, gazing towards the future with his strong and fearless gaze. I thought of the clown in office, his orange skin and clownish hair swept back, and his foul mouth and disrespectful attitude towards my African-American, Transgendered, Homosexual, Mexican-Islamic family. The internment camps he was probably having built right now, to round them up and deport them. His law enforcement thugs preparing lists of innocent children to deport. His cronies stacking their gold like Scrooge McDuck while I made $7.25 an hour flipping burgers. How was I supposed to survive on that? How dare they not pay me $15, or even $20 an hour! A wage you can live on is another basic human right! I have $40,000 in student loans I must pay back! Bernie Sanders would have forgiven them!

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I started running for the nearest Safe Space. But it was so far away! Why weren’t they everywhere?

The unfairness of it all overwhelmed me and dropping to my knees, I bawled. The hot, salty tears rolled down my face and I could feel my mascara running into my mustache.

But I felt no shame, I was a refuge of strength and dignity against the injustice of America. My safety pin protest proved that. Expressing emotion just meant I was more ‘woke’ than everyone else.

Turning my face upwards, I clenched my fists and screamed my social justice warrior rage at the sky.

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