Written Revolutionaries

"It doesn't count if you're already planning your defeat," my twin brother, Adran muttered.

"What else am I supposed to do?" I asked. Adran sighed, running his hand over his chin.

"Maybe you could run away," suggests Presley.

"Presley," Adran snaps. "Jessica can't just run away!" Presley huffs, wanting her idea to be taken seriously. I glanced around the encircling area, my mind racing to prepare for leaving.

"I might be able to make it," I state. Adran whips his head around to look at me.

"You can't be serious," reasons Adran. I nod, signaling my seriousness. Adran whines, pushing his bottom lip out at me. I shake my head, not wanting him to beg.

"Where are you going to go?" questions Presley.

"I don't know yet," I respond. "I'll probably run off to another state."

"Be sure to call us when you can," demands Adran.

"I might not be able too," I retort. "If I can get ahold of a burner phone, I'll call, alright?" Adran nods, his eyes becoming bleaker than they were this morning. With an end location beginning to formulate in my mind, I begin to pack articles of clothing in one backpack. Once the backpack is filled, I grab my billfold, popping it open. Almost three hundred dollars, all in twenties, tumbles out of it. I snatch it off the floor, shoving it in the furthest pocket of the backpack. Not wanting to run out soon, I retrieve one hundred more dollars from inside my closet. Over the past three years, I've saved as much money as possible from working under-the-counter jobs, primarily consisting of cleaning jobs.

As the sun leaves, I launch my backpack onto my back. Bidding farewell to Adran and Presley, I project myself out of the window. I begin my journey to New York City, hoping to make it as a script writer. I've already written ten episodes of a show, so I'll be able to hit the ground running. Before then, I'll be running from my parents, who'll only want to contain me within their control.

Once the sun starts to peek over the horizon, I take a better look at my surroundings. The concrete forest of New York City welcomes me as I start a new life. With what feels like a lifetime of stress alleviate, I begin to mentally prepare myself for a new life. A multitude of buildings enclose me in a box of little freedom.

"Excuse me young lady," a stranger shouts. "Are you lost?" I turn to face them, only to be met with the backs of people's heads. Scrunching my eyebrows together, I continue on my original path.

"How dare you ignore me like that," the voice bellows. I swirled around, proceeding to look for the source of the voice. Without locating the source of the voice, I decided to continue walking.

"Should you ignore me," the voice shouted. "You will be severely punished."

"Who are you?" I whispered, no one was looking at me.

"Why, I am your parasite," the voice retorts. "You are the only one who can hear or see me." I throw my eyes around, ensuring no one is looking at me.

"Why are you here?" I questioned. "How did you get here?"

"That isn't important," the voice explains. "The only thing that matters is that you face your destiny."

"My destiny?" I ponder. "What destiny are you talking about?"

"The one that allowed us to finally meet," the voice snaps. "Follow my directions, and we'll talk more at our destination."

Once arriving at the destination, I take notice of the filth surrounding the tiny building. I nearly puke, swallowing the bile before it can show itself. The stench of human excrement hits me in the mouth as I push the door open.

"I know it's not the prettiest," the voice, apparently my parasite, states, "but it's my home."

"It smells horrible," I mutter, pinching my nose.

"Hey," the voice bellows, "I didn't come into your home and talk about your abusive parents. Give me some respect." I throw my unused hand up, showing I mean no harm. Stomping through the rubble, I watch every step in the hopes of not messing with anything.

Finally reaching an open and clean room, I remove my hand from my nose. I intake a large gulp of air, clearing out my lungs.

"What is it you wanted to talk about?" I ask.

"Well, I suppose I'll need to explain everything," my parasite sighs. "My actual name is Brothelbade. I'm not from Earth, but rather a planet called Crapendole. Crapens, like myself, visit your world only when you humans need help."

"Like when?" I ask.

"Well if you didn't interrupt me, you would know," Brothelbade retorts. "Let's see, the last time was when old Abraham Lincoln needed help. Before that was Alexander Hamilton. Anyway, we don't tend to come around all that often."

"Then why now?" I question.

Brothelbade sighs, "You humans are in grave danger."

"How so?" I snap.

"Because a teenager kept interrupting as I was trying to explain," Brothelbade snaps back. As Brothelbade speaks, the ground below us begins to rumble. Raising my arms, I mutter prayers to any god that crosses my mind.

"Run child," Brothelgade shouts, "you aren't safe here!" I dash out of the building, not caring about the trash around me.

As I reach the street, the building I was in crumbles entirely. I begin to scramble down the street, rushing past barely anyone. Once I reach a cross road, the skyscraper shakes violently before tumbling onto my intended path. I choose to run the other way before another building falls.

After running for what feels like years, I finally jog to a stop. Placing my hands on my head, I gasp for air.

"That wasn't good," Brothelbade mutters.

"Yeah, I noticed," I heaved. I take a few steps forward, getting a better hold of my breathing.

"Do you have any idea what just happened?" questions Brothelbade.

"The world just began to end," I respond.

"Yes and no," corrects Brothelbade. "The enemies of the Crapendole people just tried to kill you."

"Why me?" I ask.

"They know your power," Brothelbade answers. "They're scared of what you can do."

"What do you mean, 'power'?" I ponder.

"Were you not listening to me?" booms Brothelbade. "Before New York City fell, I was talking about how Crapens rarely visit Earth."

"What does that have to do with me?" I ask.

"During the time of Abraham Lincoln and Alexander Hamilton," Brothelbade explains. "Those two were the only ones accompanied by a Crapen."

"You're accompanying me," I stated.

"Exactly," mutters Brothelbade. "Why do you think that is?"

"Because I'm important," I answer, "for some reason."

"Now you're getting it," cheers Brothelbade.

"May I ask why I'm important?" I question.

"You may," Brothelbade responds. "Like Hamilton and Lincoln, you have very powerful words."

"Powerful words?" I repeat.

"Yes, powerful words," Brothelbade states.

"How would I use these 'powerful words'?" I ponder.

"Some use them through speeches, like Lincoln," explains Brothelbade, "others use them through writing, like Hamilton."

"What would I use them for?" I ask.

"To stop a dictatorship," snaps Brothelbade. I stammer backwards, eventually trip, and slam onto my butt. I stand, wiping dirt off my pants.

"Whose dictatorship?" I pose.

"Who is president?" Brothelbade asks.

"Donald Trump," I answer.

"Yes, the future dictator of a broken America," mutters Brothelbade.

"I guess I better get to writing then," I chirp.

"You won't be alone," Brothelbade confirms.

You guys, if things do hit the fan, and you want to change that, there are some things you can do. You can write letters to Senators and Representatives. You can write articles supporting your beliefs, where everyone can see. You can go and protest for your beliefs. You can sign petitions, or donate money.